


Upon a Sun-Baked Rock

by spiffingtea



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - Kindergarten & Pre-school, Attempted Kidnapping, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Canon-Typical Violence, Custody Battle, Established Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Kidnapping of an Adult, Lawyer Sam Winchester, M/M, Mention of Prison System, Mentions of PTSD, Minor Character Death, Past Jo Harvelle/Dean Winchester, Single Parent Castiel (Supernatural), Teacher Dean Winchester, Unrequited Castiel/Kelly Kline, attempted arson, kidnapping of a minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:33:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 25,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27609751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiffingtea/pseuds/spiffingtea
Summary: After a pregnant Kelly Kline seeks out refuge with Castiel after leaving her abusive ex-lover, Cas is left to pick up the pieces of grief and a son after her death giving birth. Six years later, Cas finds himself doing all he can to make sure Jack can have a happy upbringing. When he brings Jack to Kindergarten on his first day, he has no idea how much meeting Jack's new teacher, Mr .Winchester, will change him.Cas and Dean find themselves in the midst of transition - Dean is about to see his younger brother Sammy married and Cas is still finding his place as a single Dad, when both are faced with catastrophic news. As they grow closer and learn more about their situations, they learn that their lives may be more intertwined and dangerous than they think...Written for the 2020 DeanCas Big Bang challenge!
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Kelly Kline (Supernatural), Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Ellen Harvelle/Bobby Singer, Jo Harvelle/Dean Winchester
Comments: 74
Kudos: 189
Collections: DCBB 2020





	1. Ramble On, Mr. Winchester

**Author's Note:**

> IT'S HERE. 
> 
> This fic has been in the works for SOME time. It's my first ever DCBB, so a few thank yous are more than overdue:
> 
> Firstly, a huge, huge thank you to kayrosebee, who did some absolutely fabulous art for this fic, including the lil insert for all the scene breaks. It's been an absolute delight working alongside you during this challenge and I'm so glad I was partnered with you for this! I hope you enjoyed this story and journey as much as I did <3 
> 
> Another huge thank you to MalMuses for sweeping through this fic and betaing it for me and catching my many, many grammar mistakes (I'll still fight you on the ruling of emdashes, though) -- and also (see what I did there? ;) ) to lawful_feral_merit whom I did massive amounts of consulting on child custody proceedings and laws in order to figure out how to plot out large swathes of this fic. Disclaimer: I took a lot of artistic licence concerning details of custody proceedings; ultimately not the core of this fic, but I was given a HUGE amount of advice for of which I am very grateful <3
> 
> And finally, to my endless muse, barebones. You were the one to initially plant the roots of this smol AU, and I'm so excited to be able to share this fic in its entirety with you -- it wouldn't exist without you. <3 
> 
> And to all who read this; thank you! I hope you enjoy this story as much as I've enjoyed curating it, and I would absolutely love for a comment on your thoughts!

_“Fortune’s fool! How we humans lie upon beauty like lizards upon a sun-baked rock.”_

― Roman Payne

_New Year, New me,_ Dean thinks to himself, leaning back on his desk chair. The chair groans in complaint and he surveys his domain. 

The room is neatly arrayed with various toys, unpacked with the efficiency of a pro ikea-assembler. Crafts and activities have all been prepared across the classroom tables, walls stapled in new various motivational posters, such as _Just remember, you can’t climb the ladder of success with your hands in your pockets._ Not to mention a few shiny new posters of the Marvel Superheroes. Which Dean _will_ claim was at the request of his students; a lie that fell apart after knowing him longer than five minutes.

The classroom slowly fills with kindergarten children, and Dean leans back on his chair, grinning at them as they all come in—many of them clutching new toys of their own, running around and waving them at friends whom they hadn't seen over the winter break. Or perhaps they had. To a kid that age, a day probably felt like a lifetime. A few of them wave their presents enthusiastically in his face, and Dean can only pull a smile at them before the kids run off. He wonders if they’ll remember much of these moments—he could at least remember Sammy's delight when they were kids.

He straightens up as two people he doesn't recognise enter the room. A small boy with brown hair, swooping over one side of his face and cut neatly. He grips onto what he's only assuming is his dad's hand—a tall, dark haired man, lips pressed together as he sweeps the room, even more cautious than his son. They both certainly _look_ alike, that’s for sure. 

Dean rolls onto his feet, (trying not to topple the chair on his way up,) and motions to get their attention. He sticks out a hand to the man as they approach. 

"Hey, you must be Mr... uh. Shurley?" A short nod of affirmation. Dean steps aside his desk to crouch down to the child. "And _you_ must be Jack." 

Jack recoils for a moment, shuffling behind his father's leg as he peers up at Dean. Dean gives him a warm smile. "I'm Mr. Winchester. I'll be your new teacher. It's all cool if you're scared though, I can be pretty intimidating." He reaches around behind his desk, grabbing something. "I got a friend for you, though, who will never be scared of me or anyone else."

He hands Jack a plush Gecko, made up of a vibrant red fabric and bulging eyes. Jack stares at it in wonder. 

"You can give 'em whatever name you like. They don't mind. And if you ever get scared or frightened, you can hold onto them and they'll help you be less afraid. They can even tell me if you're not feeling good, without you ever saying a word." 

Jack gazes down at it for half a minute, before giving a very serious nod. "Tony." 

Mr. Shurley leans down, and pats Jack on the shoulder. "Why don't you go and find Claire? She should be here somewhere." 

Jack looks up then with wide eyes. "Claire?"

Mr. Shurley nods, and ushers him along. Jack bumbles off, still clutching at Tony the gecko. Dean and Mr. Shurley straightens as they watch him go. 

"He'll be alright. Seems like a good kid."

Jack's father stares after Jack as he disappears. He expels a long sigh, closing his eyes for a moment, before turning back to Dean. He looks at him, and hot _damn_ , did this man have _blue_ eyes, like he belonged in an overzealously coloured portrait drawn by one of his students. "It's hard, moving schools so soon."

"Yeah, kids are pretty resilient though. I should know." Dean chuckles. "You know Jody?"

Mr. Shurley just nods, glancing down at an approximate point on the carpet. His whole posture is almost rigid, though, and something uneasy settles in Dean that he can't quite place. 

"It's a small town, and she's the Sheriff." He only notes — which is fair enough, but Dean's never seen a hair on this man's head before — or his son's. Dean placates his suspicion with a grin. 

"Well, hope you're feeling welcome. Name's Dean, by the way." He holds out a hand. The other man hesitates for a second, before reaching and grasping his hand. 

"Castiel." He says. 

Dean is scooping up the remains of the jumbo Jenga tower into a plastic box when he hears his classroom door swing open. He doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is. 

“Should’ve seen the way Jody turned up late today with Claire, she practically yeeted the girl into the building before sprinting off. Must’ve been on call or something,” Charlie muses, waltzing around Dean’s desk. She comes to a stop. “Oh hey, you got rid of Maximus."

Dean turns around, straightening. “... ‘Yeet’?”

“Where'd Maximus go?”

“Yeet?”

Charlie scoffs, before pointing a finger at the accused coffee cup on the desk. “Hey. Gecko first, old man questions later.”

Dean does a double take, before he blinks. The gecko. Oh.

“Oh, yeah. Got a new kid today, Jack. So I gave him the gecko to keep him company while he settles in. He’s called Tony now."

"Oh, yeah! Think I saw his dad dropping him off." She smiles, hands going to her cheeks. "He's _dreamy_."

An odd comment coming from Charlie, but whatever. "If you say so." Dean turns around to pick up the plastic box. From Charlie’s silence, he doesn’t even need to look at her to know what expression she’s throwing at him. He _elects_ to ignore it and begins to move across the room to put the box away.

“So, found yourself a DILF?”

"Fuck off," Dean comments, hoisting the box into his arms. "You gonna say that about every strange guy that comes in?"

Charlie watches him, before shrugging with one shoulder. "We queers gotta stick together, Dean."

Dean rolls his eyes. "You don't have to bring it up every damn second you see me." 

She grins, shuffling some lego half heartedly into a pile with her foot. "New year, new you, Dean. Hark my words."

Yeah, it definitely made for an _interesting_ New Year's Party, Dean tipsily revealing _that_ information about himself. 

"I'll check in with you about Cute Dad Guy in about six months, Winchester," Charlie half sings, waltzing back towards the door. 

Dean rolls his eyes. He grumbles. “Imma yeet you in a minute.”

Dean's back aches as he settles into the worn leather of his Impala. The heavy doors creak as they shut, and Dean is now sheltered from the world, nothing but the muted drone of cars on the highway nearby and the occasional passerby, normally a staff member going home. 

Dean closes his eyes for a moment, letting the noise of the children and the rush of exerted energy slowly slosh its way to stillness as he breathes. He'd joke about it, but this was one of his favorite parts of the day in that it was necessary. No matter how hectic, or stressful, or annoying his work day would be, he knew there would be a moment where he could come back to Baby and sit in her company, alone, and just... breathe. It might not be the most comfy, or the first place people would think of for respite, but it was certainly one to him. 

Dean eventually sighs, and reaches to put the key into ignition. _Baby_ purrs into life. One of the ancient cassettes starts playing _Ramble On._

Dean takes off the handbrake and looks behind him as the bass of the engine roars under his feet. 

_The Roadhouse_ is one of the less appealing looking pit stops and diners in the town, but it just wouldn't be the same if it was renovated. Dean pulls up into his usual parking space. As soon as he steps out the aroma of grease and coffee spills out and hits him from one of the opened windows, and Dean suddenly realises he is _very_ hungry, no matter how long it's been. 

The small bell jingles enthusiastically as Dean enters. The diner is pretty quiet, in the weird gap between the end of school mothers and fathers shepherding children for an early dinner, and the evening crowd getting out of work. The perks of a kindergarten teacher when Dean could actually escape somewhat on time; managing to avoid rush hour some of the time was a sweet perk of the job. 

Apart from one or two truck drivers keeled over a coffee, there isn't much in sight. Dean twirls his keys for a moment as he saunters up to the counter. The sounds of greasy sizzling echo from the confines of the kitchen. 

"Anyone home?" Dean calls out. Ellen is standing with her back to him, hovering over a grill. Jo is tucked in some corner, wielding a knife against some vegetables. He thinks twice about making her jump. Dean smiles. "Hey. How're the girls doing back here?"

Ellen turns, brow furrowed in frustration. She brandishes the spatula she's holding. "Boy, you call us that one more time, you're gettin this spatula straight to the face."

Dean grins, tilting his head towards the older woman in the back of the kitchen, flipping some burgers. “Hey, Ellen. How you doin’?”

“Way too short staffed for my likin’,” she mutters. “You keep your head stuck there for long enough I’ll have an apron and spatula in your hand before you can blink.”

Dean flashes his best flattering grin at her, and dares to keep his head where it is for the moment. “I work with small kids, Ellen. My reflexes are second to none.”

“We’ll see about that,” she remarks, but places down her spatula for a moment, walking the few steps towards the hatch. Ellen smells of grease and beef, and she leans towards the end of the counter to pull out some bread buns; starting to slice at some tomatoes. “How them kids treatin’ you today?” she asks, without looking up. Dean rolls one shoulder in response, before realising that she isn’t going to see that. 

“Good.” He nods. “Claire threw some bouncy balls at one of the other boys which hit them hard in the head, so I had to put her in time out. She told me afterwards it's because the boys were picking on Kaia.”

“That kid is gonna grow up to be a feisty one, I swear.” 

Dean chuckles. “Think she’s already there. We also got a new kid in today."

"Oh?" Ellen questions, flipping the burger with a nonchalance that only comes from years of muscle memory. "How were they?"

"Nice. Kid called Jack. His dad brought him in. His name was something odd. Castiel? Castine? Name sounds European, that's all I remember. Think they're new in town though. Seemed nice enough."

“Well, knowing the parents always makes things easier,” Ellen remarks, flipping the burger onto a bread bun. She drops it on the counter. “Says a lot about the family when the parents are willing to know the teacher, I think. Ain’t that right, Sam?”

Dean turns his head as Ellen looks up; Sam looms over his right shoulder. If Dean hadn’t grown up with his ever imposing stature, he probably would have jumped out of his skin. Despite not jumping, Dean punches him in the shoulder for good measure. 

“Geeze, Sammy, what are ya? Ninja moose?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Dean, you’re a little more creative than that, come on.”

Dean grins. “Fine. Ninjoose? Moosja?”

Ellen emerges at the kitchen doorway before Sam can end his family line.

Her smile spreads wide when her eyes settle on Sam, and she throws her arms out.

“Now where’s my hug from the man of the hour?” Sammy leans down and she pulls him in tight, patting him on the back. “Congrats, Sam. You’ve found a good one.”

Sam smiles at her as they part. “Thanks, Ellen.”

“Where _is_ Eileen, anyway?” Dean questions, peering around Sam as though his large form was somehow hiding her away in his shirt or something. Sam shrugs.

“She gets out today. Figured I’d spin by here first.”

The sound of ceramic sliding across metal comes from Dean’s left, and the plate garnishing a cheeseburger and fries shows up. Dean grins at Ellen, sticking a hand in his pocket to throw down some notes. “Keep the change.” Dean winks, and pulls the plate towards himself.

Ellen rolls her eyes before looking at Sam. “What can I get you?”

“Just some Ceasar salad. No sauce.”

“It’s on the house, Sammy,” Ellen notes, disappearing back into the kitchen.

Dean mutters around his burger, “Rabbit-Moose.”

“How’d Eileen’s parents react?” Dean asks, kicking at some loose gravel in the parking lot.

“They seem happy enough. Her dad already knew, though.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “…You asked him for his blessing?”

Sam nods, sheepishly. Dean laughs. “Damn, Sammy. Who brought you up in the Victorian Era?”

“It just felt like the right thing to do, alright?” Sam shrugs. “You know she’s real close with him.”

“Yeah.” Dean falls silent, too. “I bet mom would’ve liked her.”

Sam gives a curt nod, straightening. “Yeah,” he says. Then snorts. “Thought you were the one who didn’t like chick flick moments?”

Sam presses the button on his keys, unlocking the car beside him. “See you at home.”

“Don’t be out partying too late, Sammy.” Dean grins, opening his car door. “You got work in the morning.”

“Doesn’t matter, old man.” Sam retorts. “You’ll be asleep either way.”

Dean lays on his bed, arms behind his head. He stares at the picture framed on the wall. A woman with long flowing hair and a chubby cheeked four year old, their heads pressed together as though there's nothing else worth feeling. 

Dean leans his head back against the pillow, and sighs. He closes his eyes. 

"Night, mom," he murmurs.


	2. No Rest for the Wicked

It’s pouring with rain outside, and Castiel is _extremely late_. 

If he hadn't been asked to stay behind for ten minutes to deal with a _faeces_ incident at the gas station, and then if Gabriel hadn't called in a last minute favor to pick up some stock for the bar, and then if the rain hadn't called everyone and their godmothers to sit in the highway, then he'd have been _perfectly_ on time—early in fact—but _no._ Agnes & Co. seemed to just _love_ watching red go to green and see the homeless community limp around damply in the rain around them.

He practically stumbles into the school, barely remembering that shoes and rain and lino flooring don't make for the best power walk, and he very nearly loses his balance. Rain dripping down his forehead, he nods at the woman behind the reception desk—Charlie, he believes her name was?—before speeding along to the room.

And of _course_ Jack was the only remaining child. As he approaches he can hear the teacher, Mr. Winchester’s, voice drifts out:

“Hey, lookin’ good. Wanna tell me more?”

Castiel pushes open the door fully at that point, trying to catch his breath. (You would assume even with a six year old he'd have retained most of his fitness). Mr. Winchester looks up at him, blinking for a second —no doubt at the soggy state Castiel swamps in as. 

“I’m sorry—my job overran, and the rain—”

He’s interrupted by Jack jumping out of his seat with a “Daddy!” and running towards him. Castiel blinks but scoops the boy up as he nears him, hoisting him on his hip. He looks at Jack. 

“Hey, Jack. Have a good day?”

Jack nods, patting a hand to Cas’ wet forehead. “Yeah! We read a story and then I played with a firetruck and then I did a drawing, which I just done with--”

Dean walks up at that moment, holding out the piece of paper that Jack had handed to him. Castiel blinks down at it. 

“Pretty good, if I say so myself,” Dean says. 

Castiel looks up as he takes the paper from Dean, glancing for a moment down at the paper. He looks back at Dean, with a soft frown. “I’m really sorry---” 

Dean shakes his head, waving his free hand at him to shush him. “Hey, nah. Don’t worry about it. You’d be amazed how many parents turn up way later and treat this as just daycare.”

Castiel blinks. “I wasn’t--”

“I know.” Dean cuts in with a smile. “It’s okay.” He leans down to Jack, raises a high five. “I’ll see ya tomorrow, yeah?”

Jack looks from Dean, to the hand, before tentatively raises his own small hand and bats it against Dean’s larger palm. Dean grins. Castiel feels warmth blossom in his chest, paired with relief. Jack really seems to enjoy it here, at least.

Castiel looks at Dean for a moment, who gives him a steady gaze of green eyes and unspoken reassurance. Cas nods before glancing back at Jack, adjusting him. “Say bye to Mr. Winchester, Jack.” 

“Bye! Bye, Mister, Mister Winchesteeer,” Jack sings, voice drifting down the corridor as Castiel, with one last nod in goodbye, turns and carries him out. 

He feels Dean watch them both leave. Castiel winces as he hears his shoes squelch. 

Castiel squelches right up until they head into the house, which Jack seems to find endlessly amusing. 

"Daddy, your shoes--"

Cas sighs. "Yes, I know. They're making a funny noise."

The door is unlocked, and Jack barrels on inside. From the kitchen Castiel hears, "Hey big guy, aren't you looking a bit damp?"

With a sigh, Castiel dumps Jack's slightly damp schoolbag in the hallway, and hangs up their coats. By the time he rounds the corner into the kitchen, Anna is already pouring Jack some apple juice. Cas frowns. 

"You know I don't want him using those glasses yet."

Anna looks at him, handing Jack a tall glass cup. Jack frowns in concentration. "I'm grown up enough now! I've drank from them before!"

Anna just shrugs at him. "He’s managed fine before. We'd run out of clean cups."

Castiel squints at her, before reaching for a towel. He dries his hair for a moment. "I won't need you later."

Anna's looking at him with a frown when he lowers the towel. "What? Why?"

"I had to run an errand for Gabriel earlier. He told me to take the night off."

"Oh," is all Anna says, gaze lingering on Jack—who for what it was worth, was concentrating on that apple juice with some _intensity_. “You sure? You could still go out."

"Where?" Cas blanches. 

"I don't know, Castiel. Put yourself out there. Go to a bar, pick someone up. Live a little."

Cas frowns. "I don't need to 'pick anyone up.'"

Anna rolls her eyes. "You can do more than just look after Jack, you know."

"Yes, I know," Cas says, a little too quickly. He looks down at him. "But we haven't had a chance to go visit his Mom this month."

Visiting the cemetery always feels grey, and damp. The mood always feels reflected in the weather, even six years later.

Castiel still isn't sure if Jack really understands why he’s here. He knows that he recognises his mother—he can point at pictures and say her name and who she was, even to people who visit the house. Jack is a smart kid, and in some ways a lot more perceptive than he let on, even as a six year old. 

He knows Kelly would probably have laughed at that comment, and lightly questioned about whom the real father was. And Castiel would have rolled his eyes. 

Now, six years later, his eyes sting at the thought. 

Cas pulls Jack along, who is getting distracted by the various different flowers and plush toys left behind on some of the headstones. Jack was always drawn to the most soggy, depressed looking ones. He'd tug on Castiel's hand because he wanted to take them home to get clean and warm. As a result, Kelly never was given any toys. 

They come to a stop about two thirds down the row, and Cas lets go of Jack's hand.

"Say Hi to Mom, Jack."

Jack stops and stares at the small plaque that is in front of them. The fresh bouquet of flowers is only just starting to wilt, no doubt revived by the recent rainfall. Castiel stares at them for a moment, eyes narrowing. He looks at his own fresh bouquet. 

"Hi, Mom." Jack's voice throws Castiel out of his dawning revelation, and gives him his own flowers as Jack turns for them.

Castiel stares down at the plaque for a few moments. Jack tumbles off, distracted by something a little further down the row. Normally, Castiel would let him wander a little, but today he grips on. 

"Stay with me, Jack," he murmurs.

He kneels down, reaching out a hand to wipe at the grime that had covered the plaque. 

_Kelly Kline_ _  
_ _March 3rd 1978 - May 18, 2017_ _  
_ _Beloved Mother_

Castiel stares at it, then stares at the other bouquet that was there before they were. He looks at Jack, who was looking at him curiously. He hands the bouquet to Jack. 

"You picked these out for Mom, remember? You can put them down."

With a nod, Jack bundles the bouquet into his arms, tottering over to the plaque. He seems a little lost at where to put these flowers since there are already flowers there, before quietly opting to lay them behind, tucked against the headstone.

 _I'll look after him. I promise._ Castiel thinks, glancing around the cemetery one last time. He straightens up, and gently tugs on Jack's hand. "C'mon, Jack. Let's go get you that milkshake."

Castiel pulls Jack along, ushering him smoothly along the damp grass as they leave the cemetery.

Dean ignores Sam trying to catch his attention, frowning as he watches them go.


	3. Parent Trap

“Have you considered our Valentine’s specials? A box of chocolates and a bouquet for only $12.99...” Castiel repeats the mantra at a gruff looking male with the beard half the size of him. Castiel is fairly sure he’s homeless, but management insists on pushing the offer, so here he is. The man barely looks at him before scooping the six pack and tissues under his arm, splatting down a few bills on the counter between them. Castiel barely manages to return his change to him before the man has shuffled out of the door. Castiel watches him leave with apathetic curiosity, vaguely wondering what the male is going to be doing with those items. He then realises it’s not an ideal train of thought he should pursue. 

With a sigh, Castiel drums his fingertips along the top of the counter, before leaning down to push the wastepaper bin along the side of the back of the counter. He’d been kicking it accidentally all day. 

As he’s leaning down, he hears the distinct sound of a person at the counter, and items being dropped by the till ready for purchase. He starts to straighten back up. 

“Can I interest you in our Valentine’s--” He starts his mantra as he straightens, only to stop when recognition hits him upon seeing this man’s face. He blinks. 

“Oh. Mr… Winchester,” The name comes back to him. Mr. Winchester tilts his head, and a grin spreads on his expression.

“Oh, hey. You’re Jack’s father.” As though he doesn’t realise. A glance of green eyes towards his name tag. “Castiel, yeah?”

Castiel nods, starts scanning the items in front of him. 

“How’s the kid doing? He runnin' with mom this weekend?” Cas glances up just to see Dean’s face fall, as though he regretted the words falling from his mouth. Cas simply shakes his head, his hands scanning the items purely from muscle memory.

“There’s no mom in the picture, unfortunately. His aunt is looking after him.” 

He senses Dean shuffling, sticking his hands in his pockets. He falls silent. Castiel doesn’t mind.

“Ah, yeah. Sorry to hear that. My mom died young, too. It can be tough for everyone.”

Castiel slows down, looks up at Dean. “I never said that she had passed,” he murmurs with a frown. _Would the school have informed him?_ Dean blinks, and then flushes, freckles popping up across his cheeks. 

“Oh. Uh, I--”

“That’ll be $14.86,” Castiel interrupts, the cash register opening with a ding. “Would you like a look at our Valentine’s Special with your copy of Busty Asian Beauties?”

They stare at each other. 

Dean looks down at a point in the middle of the cracked lino floor. “I’m, uh. Sorry, Cas.”

_Cas?_

“Then that’ll be $14.86.”

Dean shuffles his hands in his pockets, before slapping two notes onto the counter. “Keep the change,” he murmurs. He takes his items and leaves. Castiel pretends not to watch him go. 

Castiel pushes open the door to the Gas N’ Sip as he makes his way to his car. The can of whatever off brand energy drink he could grab from a shelf hisses as he pulls on the tab, and he takes a swig of it. He places it atop his car once he approaches. Castiel leans against the door handle and sighs. That run in with Jack's teacher was the last thing he needed to concern his thoughts right now. He’s not sure himself why he acted so abruptly. Maybe it would be easier if Mr. Winchester — Dean, was it? — knew about it. It was a little presumptuous to think that Dean _didn’t_ already know — it was a small town, he knew Jody, and Jack was his student. If he cared Dean would’ve looked into who Jack was and his background. 

That’s probably what Castiel found strange. Someone _caring_. 

Castiel sighs. He looks at his watch. 

He needed to head to Gabriel's bar, he didn't really have time to--

He feels his phone start vibrating in the back pocket of his pants. With a frown, he pulls it out. He answers it.

“Anna? Something wrong?”

There’s silence on the line for a few moments, where Castiel can hear background murmurings, perhaps a TV on in the background.

“Anna?”

“Castiel—you need to come home.”

Fear hijacks his throat; his next words come out strained.

“--What’s wrong?”

“I can’t explain over the phone — Jack’s fine, don’t worry. But you need to come home.”

Castiel stares off at one of the distant highways. 

“Alright.” 

Anna hangs up before he can. Castiel stares at his phone, as though it will tell him his next steps. 

_Jack's fine_. 

It was him. It was _him_. It had to be.

Castiel pulls out his keys and unlocks his car. He slides into the seat, turns on the ignition and looks behind to reverse out. He starts to swing out of the parking lot, only to hear something skid across his car hood and rattle on the ground. His energy drink. 

Castiel barely rolls his eyes at himself, pressing his foot on the pedal, hard.

When Castiel pulls up to the house, Jack practically bursts out of the door in excitement. He barely has time to cut the ignition and open the door before Jack has barrelled into him. It’s an instant salve to the anxiety that had been broiling in his chest on the way over, and he wraps his arms around Jack in a tight, relieved squeeze and smiles down at him before Jack even says a word.

“Hey, Jack. Have fun with Aunt Anna?”

“Yeah! We played with dinosaurs and had a tea party and baked some cookies and — though the cookies were for the tea party — and we had a guest to our tea party! Uncle Lucifer!”

Castiel freezes.

He turns his head, Jack’s babbling tuning out, and sees Anna standing at the doorway. She’s staring straight at him, expressionless. A single nod.

_Him._

“Lucifer?” Castiel asks Jack, trying to force down the crack in his voice. Jack seems none the wiser, and nods vigorously.

“Yeah! Though he said to call him Uncle Lucy, which is more of an Aunt name, but I said okay!”

“--Okay, Jack.” Castiel says, and with a grunt swings him out of the car. He tries, as always, to not think about just how big he’s getting. “Well, let’s head in and I can also meet our ‘Uncle Lucy’.” 

Castiel locks the car behind him and walks Jack towards the house. Castiel glances towards the front windows, and slows. There’s a silhouette in the window, of a man staring at him. When Cas makes brief eye contact, the curtains shift and the man steps away.

He stops when he nears Anna, and they simply look at each other silently for a long moment or two. Castiel glances down to where Jack is hovering at the door; he clearly wants to see this big meeting. 

Anna and Castiel give another brief glance at each other; then Anna reaches out to Jack. “C’mon, Jack. Aunty Anna needs your help with something very special that only you can help with.”

Jack stops mid-bounce, and pouts up at the both of them. “But I wanna be with Daddy—”

Castiel leans down, and ruffles his hair. “You will, but Aunt Anna really needs your help. Think you can do it?” 

Jack’s lip wobbles a little as he looks at them both, before he gently takes Anna’s hand. “Okay, Aunty.” He nods. “If you really need my help.”

Anna pulls Jack through a door on the right of the landing, giving one last look at Castiel before she closes it.

As soon as the door closes, Castiel takes a moment to close his eyes, and breathe deeply. They’d planned for this situation. He could handle this. He had to. Squaring his shoulders, Castiel marches into the living room. 

There was leftover plastic tea ware scattered across the carpet from Jack’s long abandoned tea party on the floor. The TV was on an endless loop of the DvD title menu of _A Land Before Time_. 

Stood by the curtains, framed by the sun bleeding against the window, was Lucifer. Lucifer is still facing it. Castiel clenches a fist, sudden anger gnawing in his chest. 

“It’s really a nice neighbourhood. Not too loud, close to local amenities,” Lucifer wonders, still gazing outside. He tilts his head. “Average. Hidden in plain sight.” 

“Get out of my house,” is the first thing that manages to fight from Castiel’s lips. He takes a deep breath. 

Lucifer pauses, before turning into the room. He presses fingers to his own heart, a softly mocking expression. “What? How rude, Cassie. Little old me just wants a family visit—”

“ _Get. Out._ ”

“--Can’t even come to say hello to his own son, whom he's never had the chance to _meet_ —”

“ _Out._ ” Castiel snarls. Lucifer raises his hands up in mock surrender. They fall silent. Lucifer looks down. 

“I just wanted to see my son, Castiel. Does he — does he even know me?”

“No.” Castiel scowls. “And he won’t.” 

Lucifer looks up to Castiel. Tears fill his eyes. “But I just want to see my son. He’s my son, Castiel. I just want to tell him how much, how much I’ve missed him, how much I lov—”

“There is a reason Kelly chose me to raise _her_ son,” Castiel spits. “And part of it is because I know how to deal with a manipulative, lying bastard like you. This is my last warning, or I call the police. Get. _Out_.”

The inane soundtrack of _A Land Before Time_ plays on loop between them as they stare each other down. Lucifer lowers his hands. 

“Fine.” Lucifer says, voice suddenly hard. “I wanted to be civil. We’ll see how long it takes for Jack to know how you've lied to him, then. It'll be sooner than you think."

Castiel says nothing. He marches behind Lucifer as he leaves. Lucifer gives one last look. Castiel doesn’t take his eyes off of him until he sees the car disappear out of sight. He lingers a few more minutes just to be sure, before eventually stepping inside. He locks the door, leans against it, and drops his head in his hands. He lets out a long sigh, tries to ignore the shaking in his hands.

He is going to have _words_ with Anna.


	4. After School Club

Dean's phone vibrates. He's buried under a pile of arts and crafts activities, and _ugh_ , _glitter._ Dean is sure it's in his hair, and thus it will remain for 84 years. It’s times like this he deeply, _deeply_ questions his choice of profession.

He wildly swings an arm out, grasping haggardly for the phone on his desk. He blinks blearily as he sees Bobby's disgruntled scowl on the front, the picture taken at one of the various birthday get togethers that Bobby was dragged to at The Roadhouse to celebrate with Ellen and some of the others. 

Dean presses the phone to his ear.

"Hey, Bobby. What can I do ya for?"

"Yer not busy, are ya?"

Straight to the point, as normal. Dean glances at the nightmare mountain of crinkled glitter hearts spread around him. 

"Nah, just tidyin' up. What can I do you for?"

"Jody needs her car lookin' at, but I can't get out to her til' tomorrow and she needs it done yesterday. Can you go check it out?"

"Sure thing, Bobby." 

"Swing by after. Beer'll be on me." 

Jody lived on the edge of town. It helped, having a bigger space, considering she somehow managed to balance being the sheriff while also juggling three small daughters, though Donna would generally swing by as the pseudo co-parent. 

Takes a village.

Dean pulls up in his usual spot just beside the driveway, cutting the ignition off only after the song he's currently listening to finishes.

He walks around the edge of Jody's car, giving it a once over, but opts to rap on the door before investigating any further. After a few seconds of silence, he tries it. It's unlocked. 

Dean wonders if he should choose to berate _the sheriff_ on leaving her door unlocked, but anyone dumb enough to enter the sheriff's premises unannounced probably deserved it. 

"Jody?" Dean calls out, just as a precaution. He rounds the landing only to come to a stop at the doorway into the dining room, where he comes to the stop at the sight of someone sitting at it. He blinks as recognition falls. 

It’s Jack, sat at the table, hunched over. He doesn't seem to notice that Dean is there, gripping the pen tightly and writing on paper that Dean recognises as the extra homework he gave to some of the kindergarteners. Jack is concentrating so hard his tongue is sticking out. 

Dean is a bit lost, to say the least, and it's at least a minute that passes before he realises that he's still stood in the doorway, staring like some idiot. Eventually he shakes his head, and curiosity outgrows his need for sensibility. 

"Hey, buddy, you alright there?"

Jack looks up suddenly, blinking very hard in surprise at seeing his kindergarten teacher there. "Mr... Mr Winchester?" He tries, after a few moments. Dean gives him a large grin. 

"Hey Jack. What are you up to over there?"

Jack blinks, then looks down at the table. He grabs at the piece of paper to wave it at Dean. "Homework! But it's... it's hard..."

Dean hesitates for a moment, before taking a few steps towards the table. "Hard, huh? What's hard about it?"

He pulls up a chair adjacent to Jack and looks down. It's a sheet he gave a few of the students to trace their ABCs on — Jack was pretty new to the class so he wanted to get some idea of how well versed his literacy was. It looked like he was okay at tracing the letters, but his handwriting was a scrawl. 

"Hey buddy, there's no rush. The letters aren't gonna run ahead of you, yeah? Why don't you show me how you do that letter again?"

Jack gives a dutiful nod, before leaning forward, gripping the pencil he was carrying super tight and carving at the paper, tongue sticking out from concentration. Dean has to refrain a slightly amused smile. Kids were kind of adorable, when they weren't screaming at him or each other. 

"Hey kid, you're gonna strangle the pencil. Why don't you give it some room to breathe?" 

Jack nearly drops it completely, but at least the risk of the pencil carving 'car' into the table had decreased significantly. 

Jack leans back with the air of an accomplished marathoner when he finishes, staring down at his handiwork as though by sheer effort of looking his work will be great. Dean shifts the paper round. 

"Hey, great work! Your C and R's are right on the money."

Jack looks at his writing again, as though Dean was tricking him, and gives a satisfied nod at his handiwork. "The a is hard though."

"Yeah, they're tricky little things, those a's. I betcha they won't get away for long from you, though."

"Jack?"

Dean and Jack look up at the new voice coming from the doorway. Castiel stands there, looking between the two of them in slight confusion. 

"Daddy!" Jack exclaims, sliding off his chair to run to Castiel, clinging to his leg in greeting. Cas ruffles his hair, before looking back up at Dean; Dean feels himself on edge just by the look Castiel gives him — it's a perfectly civil expression, but his back is straight, and his eyes are hard. 

"What are you doing here, Mr. Winchester?" Castiel asks. _What were you doing with my son?_ Dean finds him inadvertently standing to his feet. This man had _no_ right to command the amount of attention he did from Dean, but he found himself unable to resist it. Was that what had Dean so on edge? 

"Jody needed some help lookin' at her car. Couldn't find her and found Jack looked like he needed some help with his abcs."

Castiel squints. "But you're not on the clock."

Dean shrugs with one shoulder. "Yeah, well. Kid needed help, so I helped."

He feels Cas stare, and Dean feels a hot chill run down his neck. He was half expecting the man to choke his soul out of him and lay him bare. 

Instead, Castiel tilts his head. He glances down at Jack, who grins up at him. "Yeah! Mr. Winchester helped me not strangle the pencil!"

When Cas looks up at Dean, his expression is notably softer. He stills says, "You didn't need to do that. I should be--"

"We all got enough on our shoulders, it's what I'm trained to do. Practically taught my own little brother how to read and write too." Dean remarks, waving a hand at him in dismissal. Castiel looks a little uncomfortable. 

"Well... thank you, Mr. -- "

"Dean's fine, as I've said." Dean grins. "Castiel, right?"

Castiel nods. Dean opens his mouth to say something, before he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. "Oh, hey, sorry--" He fishes it out of his pocket, blinking at who's on the screen. "Speak of the devil-- " He turns around, pressing the phone to his ear.

“Sammy, hey, what's the dilemma?" He grins.

He stops, feeling the hot chill ball into his throat at Sam's broken voice.

"Dad, it's Dad, Dean. He — in the hospital, car crash--"


	5. The Kids are All Right

John never would have approved of suits or black clothing. He never would've approved of grand funerals or fanfare. It's not really like they had the money to do so, anyway. 

Internal bleeding is what the Doctors told them as they arrived. Major organs punctured. They were doing all they could, but he’d driven straight into a tree, and there was alcohol in his system. It was a miracle that he was still breathing by the time he’d made it to the hospital. 

John passed by the end of that day, and Sam and Dean were left to sit there, now orphaned.

Dean was a little surprised just by how many people did turn up. Pastor Jim, whom he'd not seen since he and Sammy were kids, Rufus, some other oldies. Most of them made remarks about how he was a good man, and it was a 'shame what Mary's death did to him.' He and Sammy could only exchange knowing looks. 

They had him cremated, and took the surprisingly sleek looking urn to Mary's grave. There's silence as Dean unscrews the lid, and scatters the ashes on top, watching as the summary of this man, their father, is compressed to nothing but a grey smear. They're alone in the back of the cemetery. Quietly, Sam unscrews the whiskey he'd been carrying, and pours it on the grave. He takes a deep swig, before passing it over to Dean. Dean takes his own, before pouring the rest on the grave.

"See you soon, old man." Dean mutters, bitterly. 

_John, looking small in the hospital bed. Sam had disappeared to grab some coffee, and John was at various stages of responsiveness._

_Dean glances over in shock as fingers brush his arm, and John is facing him._

_A shaky hand, a scrunched-up note, pressed as tightly as he could manage into his palm. John’s lips mouth, and Dean leans in, desperately trying to capture some of his dad’s final words._

_“Look after him."_

Jody opens the door, and her expression softens when she sees Dean. 

"Hey, Dean." She murmurs, and immediately opens her arms for a hug. Dean hesitates for a moment, but then numbly leans into her arms. He feels Jody wrap them around his shoulders and give a light squeeze, but as Dean still feels pretty tense it doesn't last long, and Jody pulls away. She pats at his shoulder. 

"Sam with Eileen?"

"Yeah. He kept insisting that I should join them, but I mentioned you'd opened house for Claire's birthday, so I was headin' up here. Otherwise we’d both just be acting sad ‘round each other."

Jody smiles at him, and leads him into the house. Somewhere in the distance is the sound of children yelling delightedly. The door shuts behind him with a soft click. 

"I always figured the promise of all the hamburgers you could eat and the wistful screaming of children demanding ice cream is always a surefire way to lift the spirits." Jodie notes. Dean at least attempts a chuckle. "Charlie's in the garden." 

"Yeah, thanks."

Suddenly, crying erupts from the aforementioned garden. Jodie rolls her eyes. "I'd better go sort that out. Make yourself at home."

"Sure", Dean says. He's about to head in that direction, before there's a knocking at the door behind him. 

Dean wanders over to the door, pulling it open. He finds himself staring straight into tired, blue eyes. 

Jack jumps in the doorway and runs about his knees. “Oh! Hello Mr. Winchester! I didn’t know you’d be coming too!” Jack careers into the house with the optimism of a child who knows exactly who he’s looking for. “Claireeeeeeee? Where are youuuuuu?” His voice disappears, into the house. Jody’s voice calls after him. 

Dean is left to stare at Castiel, who is still on the doorstep. 

“Hello, Mr. Winchester--Dean.” Castiel - Cas (why’d the guy have such a long name, anyway?) notes, a plastic bag hanging from his fingers. 

Cas stares at him. "Didn't you have...?" he begins to ask, but doesn't finish his sentence; the guy seems to carry at least _some_ tact with him. Dean awkwardly shrugs with one shoulder. 

"Word gets round, huh."

"You had taken leave for a week."

"True." Dean pauses. A sigh. "Yeah. Jody invited me here for some company. Sam's with his fiancee, so."

Castiel nods, seeming appeased. Dean's unsure why he just told him all that. He motions to the doorway, stepping aside. "Jody had to run to the garden, one of 'em was crying. You know where the kitchen is?"

"Yes," Cas notes. He tightens his hold on the bag he's carrying and shuffles past. Dean watches him go for a moment, forgetting to close the front door. He briefly wonders, again, how Cas and Jody know each other. 

Kids, man. Force you to make friends whether you want to or not. He wonders if he'll ever have that _joy_ of his own. 

He did _not_ have enough alcohol in his system yet. That definitely needed to be rectified. 

Charlie shoves a drink under Dean’s nose, and Dean squeezes his eyes shut as the nose hits him. 

“Dude, what is _in_ that?”

“Something that will change your _life_.” Charlie giggles. Dean turns away, holding his overladen paper plate of buffet and BBQ food to hold himself away.

“I gotta drive later, Charlie. Even I got my limits.” 

“I’ll try it.” 

Dean and Charlie look over. Castiel is stood there. Dean and Charlie look at each other. Dean _deeply_ dislikes her smirk and the eyebrow waggle she throws at him.

“Sure!” Charlie grins. Dean frowns. 

“Don’t you gotta drive too?” Dean blurts out. Cas just looks at him, steadily. 

“I haven’t drank anything yet. Jack is staying here for the night.” He mentions. Charlie is already handing him the drink. Cas looks down at the glass curiously for a few moments. He gives it an experimental stir in the glass. With Charlie hovering around him, Castiel tips back the glass and takes a long swig of it. Dean finds himself frozen in place, plate still aloft, watching in… horror? Awe? He’s not quite sure. 

“Dude,” He breathes, when Cas stops to take a breath. “You are unreal.”

Cas just looks at him, somewhat darkly. He downs the rest of the drink. Charlie and Dean just stand there, as though waiting for Castiel to just drop there and then on his face. Castiel looks between them some bemusement. 

“It’s a little strong.” He notes. “Though... sweet." He nods at her.

He walks off, and Dean and Charlie watch him go in silence. 

Dean runs into Cas later in the kitchen; or rather, he comes across Dean lurking in the kitchen, trying to smuggle leftover snacks that haven’t been put out yet. 

Comfort eating was called _comfort_ eating for a reason, dammit.

When Castiel enters the kitchen, Dean slams a bunch of cheese into his mouth, freezing when they make eye contact.

“Hello, Mr. Winchester.”

Dean sighs, mostly through his nose. 

“‘Meen.”

“What?”

Dean swallows the cheese cubes, hard. He winces as they struggle down his throat. “Dean,” He repeats. “You can just call me Dean. Told you that before."

“Oh.” Castiel falls quiet for a moment. Dean takes this opportunity to dig around for another drink. When he looks back, Cas is still standing there, watching him. 

“You, uh. You looking for something?”

Castiel shakes his head. “No.”

“Alrigh’ then.” Dean remarks, going back to hunting in the fridge, trying to ignore the prolonged silence that was getting more and more awkward by the second. He can feel Cas somewhere beside him take a breath, as though about to say something--

When suddenly wailing rings through the kitchen and the door is being thrown open by someone half its height.

“Da--Dadd--y-” Jack sobs. Dean ducks out of the fridge, straightening up to see what drama is unfolding behind him. Castiel has already turned towards the child. It didn’t take someone with intelligence to decipher what the issue was. 

“Hey,” Cas soothes, sweeping Jack off his feet and propping him on the kitchen island. “What are those tears for?” 

“My--my--”

“Come on, Jack,” Castiel urges, calmly wiping some of the tears from his cheeks. “You have to tell me, otherwise I can’t help you.” 

“My--” Jack pauses, swallowing a sob. He tries to take a deep breath. “I-I fell over--”

“Hmm,” Castiel says, as though only just noticing the large cut on Jack’s knee. “Let’s see what we can do about that, yeah?” He turns around to Dean, who’s been standing there like a man who doesn’t deal with kids injuries all the time for a living. He blinks at Cas as he turns towards him. 

“The first aid box.”

“Um. Oh--”

“It’s the drawer behind you. Can you pass it to me?” Dean does so, and Cas silently takes it, opening it up beside the quietly sniffling Jack. Dean watches as Cas methodically wipes the mess of Jack’s knees, then gently applies the band aid, artfully covered in brightly coloured dinosaurs. As soon as Jack sees the creatures, he seems instantly appeased. 

“You okay?” Castiel eventually asks him. Jack, eyes still red, gives a shaky nod. 

“Will be,” He promises. 

Cas gives Jack a forehead kiss. He picks him up, placing him back on the floor, and gives him a nudge. “I think they’ll be excited to see you back.” He motions. Jack wobbles as little as he turns, but is running out of the door again as soon as he steps away. 

There’s silence as Jack leaves, before Dean, who'd been frozen the whole time as though watching the Gods themselves work in front of him, clears his throat. “You’re really good with him, y’know?”

Castiel slowly looks at him, deep enough that Dean feels like his childhood is being scanned. Cas sighs, and turns back towards the door. “I hope so.” He murmurs. “He’s a lot like his mother.”

More quiet. Dean sighs, a breath of empty motel rooms and stale cereal.

“I’m sorry about the other day, Cas, at the gas station. Shouldn’t have brought anything up, specially you bein’ in the middle of work and all.” 

Castiel is still looking at the door, and for a moment Dean fears the worst. Then Cas sighs himself. 

“No, it’s alright. I think I overreacted a little. It's understandable you would know it from being his teacher."

“Actually, I saw you both. At the cemetery.”

Castiel stops, and stares at Dean, surprised. Dean feels himself flush, and tries not to trip over himself in what he suspects might be a one-chance only before he blows it all over again. 

“I, uh—I was there, with Sammy. Visitin’ our mom’s grave. We saw you not far from us visitin’ one too, and I got curious, but didn’t wanna disturb you. I went and had a look afterwards and realised it would’ve been Jack’s mom.”

Castiel looks down at the ground. “Oh.” Is all he finally says, sounding…resigned. Dean feels himself sigh on his behalf. 

“How old were you?” Cas is looking at him again, with that strange soul piercing stare that he’s not sure he’s quite noticed before. “When your mother died, if you don’t mind me--”

“Not at all.” Dean feels himself smile, soft. “I was four, Sammy was only six months. Can remember like it was yesterday.” Cas gazes at him long enough to prompt him to carry on. “She died in a house fire. Lost our home and our Mom. I still remember Dad putting Sammy in my arms and tellin’ me to run outside.” He rubs a hand against his cheek. 

And now their Dad was gone, too. 

He looks up, cutting off Cas before he says anything for the silence. “Does Jack remember anything?”

Castiel frowns, but shakes his head. “She died in childbirth. It became clear early on that it would be incredibly risky for her, but she always insisted on following through, no matter how many times people told her to get rid of him and save herself. Always said it'd be worth it, no matter what." When Cas looks at Dean, Dean almost loses his breath when he sees the tears in his eyes. “She was right, more than she’d ever know.”

They both glance out of the window, where the happy shrieks of a dozen six year olds ring around the garden.

Dean nods, feeling eyes prickle at the threat of his own tears. 

“Yeah, I agree.”


	6. Another Brick in the Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Stranger Danger.

Dean waves at Jody as she wrangles Claire under her arm and out of the classroom door.

There were still some kids running around, pent up energy from a day of staying inside, twisting among tables still covered in glitter and paper from crafts time earlier. It was his first day back at work and _why the hell does he do this to himself._ Running fingers through his hair in oncoming exasperation, Dean catches someone coming in out of the corner of his eye. 

It’s not someone he recognises, but that wasn’t always unusual. Sometimes parents got lost from other classes. Slapping his Best Teacher Smile on, Dean steps up to the tall, blonde haired male.

“Hey. You alright there?”

The man is busy scanning the room, and does a minor double take at Dean’s voice. “Oh, yeah.” He remarks, still glancing back to the classroom. “I’m here to pick up Jack.” 

Dean slowly raises an eyebrow. “Oh? I gotta ask who--”

“Uncle Lucy!”

Jack at that moment bounces up. ‘Uncle Lucy’s’ shoulders drop, and he smiles at the boy. 

“Hey there, Jack. You ready to go home?” 

The slight silence as Jack blinks up at his ‘Uncle’ immediately sends alarm bells off in Dean’s head. He wedges himself slightly between the both of them. 

“Hey, uh. Can I have a word?”

He’s still trying to look at Jack, but upon having no other choice, glances at Dean. He forces a smile. “Of course.” 

Dean shuffles _Mr. Uncle_ aside. “We, uh. We got a policy about people turning up like this. His guardian didn’t give permission for anyone of your description, so…”

“Well it’s kind of a last minute thing, y’see. He’s all caught up with a work thing, and I said I’d do him a favour, y’know, pick Jack up so he didn’t keep you waiting--”

“Sir, I can appreciate that.” Dean leans in. “But uh, policy is policy. I can’t just let him go, unless Jack has some way to confirm it with, like a password or somethin’--”

“ _Lucifer_.” 

Dean and Lucifer both stop and turn to the doorway. Castiel stands there, and Dean straightens. He ignores the relief easing into his spine.

He’d never seen such a quiet man look so _livid_. 

Jack, completely oblivious, perks up. “Hey, it’s Daddy!” 

Castiel steps forward, jaw clenched; his tone, low. “You’d best leave.” 

A pause. Lucifer looks across at Dean, eyes wide. _I’m innocent, you see?_

Dean finds himself smiling wryly. “Well, looks like that’s sorted then, yeah?” He nods his head towards the door, and Lucifer reluctantly turns to leave. As he walks out, the man and Cas share a look. Dean’s pretty sure he just witnessed attempted murder from Castiel.

When Lucifer is safely out of sight, Cas pulls Jack towards him in a tight hug, letting out a deep sigh. He looks up at Dean. 

“Thank you.”

Dean pulls up to some old warehouse in the middle of God-Freaking-Nowhere. There's no one around except for a mildly surprised security guard staring at the Impala with some level of awe. Dean decides this guy alone gets a nine on the respect rating _already_.

He winds down the window. 

"Hey, looking for the storage container for John Winchester?" He slaps down some ID documents, for good measure.

The security guard blinks at him slowly, and rummages in the tiny desk he's sat behind for a few moments, before pulling out a clipboard with some names. "Yeah, storage container six. Just down the way."

Dean gives a nod. "Thanks."

It's clear that the storage container has not been touched in some time. Dean hovers in front of the door as he tries the combination that John had handed to him, scrawled in some hospital stamped notepaper. 

The combination works, and Dean pockets the lock as he pulls the door open with a creak. He was already regretting not having Sam around, but he was working. And...uh, he hadn't told him yet. 

The container is covered in dust. Dean presses the flashlight on his phone and swings it around. There are clear foot tracks on the ground that have displaced settled dust; he'd been here very recently, though not to linger, apparently. 

As Dean wanders through, he has to force himself to not get distracted perusing through what’s in here. At random, he opens the box nearest to him, wiping off some of the dust. It's a collection of files, all letters, some legal shit, about some of the coroner's reports and insurance claims on the house... John never seems to have followed it through. 

Dean closes the box. No point digging up skeletons. Not right now. 

He traces the footsteps to a cabinet that is half open; the drawer itself is empty, until Dean peers in with his flashlight, casting it to one thing at the bottom. He reaches in and pulls it out. 

It's a small blinder, and as Dean lays it on top of the metal frame of the cabinet and flicks it open, it is almost _bursting_ from how full it is. Many of the pages are full of the unmistakable scrawl of John’s handwriting, full of pictures, newspaper clippings — some about mom, some about other arson attacks across the country that occurred in a _very_ similar manner with no identity attached to the arsonist — then on the last page written, was his name, in big letters — and circled underneath, another.

 _AZAZEL_.


	7. Anywhere the Wind Blows

Dean spends the next hour on his drive home with the name thrumming through his mind. Does he tell Sam? He should, he _should_ . But why was the note given only to him? Dad and Sam didn’t exactly get on towards the end, but he was his fucking son just as much Dean was. Was Dad trying to protect Sam in some way, considering what was going on? It was as much an order as anything else. _Don’t tell Sam._

Dean casts a glance to the journal on the seat beside him. He should at least show Sam that. Take out the last page? Yes. Maybe. Dammit. 

His phone rings. He shouldn't, but he glances at it as he's still driving, and his breath catches in his throat as he doesn't recognise the number. Quickly pulling up, he answers it. 

"Yeah?"

"Mr. Winche--Dean?"

It takes a hot, nerve wracking second for his brain to recognise it. "Cas?"

There's a pause for a second. "Er, yes. That's me."

"Everything alright?"

"I got your number from Jody. I just wanted to thank you for earlier, for protecting Jack."

Oh. _Was that really only a few hours ago?_ Dean shrugs, despite Cas being unable to see. "Hey man, it's no problem. Guy seemed like a creep. Hope you don't have too much trouble with him."

Cas sighs. "Unfortunately, yes. It's...complicated."

Cas seems to fall silent. Dean rubs at the side of his jaw in thought. "Uh, I'm sorry to hear that. Did you… wanna talk about it?"

A pause. "Yeah. I... I think I would like that."

"Cool, well, I'm in the middle of driving, so--"

"You could... come over. Once Jack is asleep. Later?"

Despite the ominous tone of the conversation, Dean can't help but smile a bit to himself. "Sure thing, man. I'll be there."

It’s a quiet part of town that Cas directs him too, tucked away in one of the older suburbs of the area. To his relief, the lights are on when Dean pulls up. 

Shutting off the engine, Dean makes his way up the pathway towards the house. To his short surprise, the front of the house is teeming with hanging baskets, spilling over with various flowers and plants. Dean half wonders to himself how the house hasn’t tipped over from the weight of them. 

The door opens before Dean can knock. It’s Castiel — looking far more tired than at school. Dean tilts his head. 

“Hey,” he says, softly. Castiel inclines his head, and ushers him in. 

The house is small, but cosy, and overgrown with succulents. He’s not sure he’s ever seen so many in one house, and Dean has a small suspicion that if Cas could get away with it, he’d replace the armchair with even more of them. The TV is on, some remnant of whatever children’s channel Jack must have been watching just before bedtime. Dean finds himself watching it with the vague curiosity of a missed children’s TV diet. 

“Coffee?” Cas asks, stood in the doorway. Dean tilts his head in a small nod. 

“Uh, yeah. Decaf, if you have any. Even I have a limit.”

Cas nods and disappears into the kitchen. Dean sits down tentatively on the sofa, before realising he’s squishing a plush. He pulls it out, realising it’s the gecko that he gifted Jack on his first day of school, and Dean can't help the smile that erupts on his face as a result. He’s still holding it when Cas walks in. Dean waves it at him a little awkwardly.

“Glad to see Jack is still good friends with Tony.” Dean notes, holding it at him. To his surprise, Cas chuckles as he joins him, placing two cups down in front of them. 

“It’s his favorite. Takes it to bed if he’s having a bad night.” 

Dean falls quiet, staring at the gecko in awe, as Cas takes a sip of his tea—peppermint, if Dean is smelling correctly. Gently, Dean places it on the arm of the sofa beside him, patting it gently. He picks up his own coffee and takes a sip. 

They sit like this in silence for a few minutes, before Cas sighs, long. He pulls out an envelope that had been tucked under his arm, placing it under the coffee table. 

“I’m not his real father.” Cas murmurs, eventually. He holds on tight to the dinosaur shaped mug he was holding. “Kelly, Jack’s mother, she became pregnant from an older brother of mine. You met him today.” 

Dean looks at him. “Lucifer?” 

A nod. Cas stares down at his tea. “I don’t know the details, but Kelly came to the conclusion that Lucifer was, well, an abusive ass. She was a friend of mine; we were work colleagues. So she came to me asking for help, and I helped her, and… along with some other family members, helped keep Lucifer away. We all knew he was involved in, uh, ‘conducting illegal activities’, and eventually he ended up serving time.”

Castiel sips his tea. Dean ignores how white Cas’ knuckles are. 

“When…she realised the implications of the pregnancy, she asked me to look after her child, whatever would happen to her. I was about to head to medical school, but I agreed, as much as I wanted to promise she would live. When she found out it would be a boy, she told me she wanted his name to be Jack. So that’s what it is.” 

Dean watches Cas for a long moment. He turns back to his coffee, staring into the murky brew. “You loved her.” He murmurs, barely a question. 

He feels Cas turn to look at him, but Cas had glanced away by the time he raises his head to meet him.

“Yes. And I see her in Jack, every day.” He murmurs. 

“Lucifer came into the picture not long after Kelly passed away, tried to claim his son, but he was interred very shortly after doing that. But…he’s recently been released.”

“He’s trying to reach Jack again.” Dean concludes, “and Jack will start remembering him at this age, too.”

Cas nods. "In that envelope is an announcement of a custody hearing. He wants to fight for custody, and probably prove his paternity."

Castiel is silent for a long, long moment. “Lucifer is a selfish, egotistical little bitch.” He mutters, and Dean raises an eyebrow. “He’ll only want Jack just to further himself, and considering what I’ve seen him do to other relationships of varying kinds, I--” Cas squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, and takes a deep breath. “I… I can’t let that happen to Jack, even _if_ Lucifer is the real father. He turned up here when I wasn’t home and my sister was babysitting, and--”

Hesitantly, Dean reaches out, and places a hand on Cas’ shoulder. Cas opens his eyes, peering at him. 

“Hey,” Dean soothes. “It’s gonna be okay. I’m not gonna let Lucifer near him again, and something will work out, I’m sure of it. Hey, uh.” Dean swallows, debates on removing his hand. “My lil’ bro actually just graduated from law school. Passed his bar exam and everything. If I ask, I’m sure he’ll help out. This sort of thing is kinda why he wanted to get into it to begin with.” Dean chuckles. “Was always a smart kid.”

Cas smiles at him, and Dean feels warmth bloom in his chest. He places his hand over Dean’s, for just a moment. “Thank you, Dean. I… appreciate it. Truly.” 

Dean nods, and hesitantly removes his hand. He reaches back for his coffee. “Jack will too, when he’s old enough, trust me.” Dean denotes, finishing the rest of his drink. “There’s a big difference between a father and a dad—” Dean glances at him, and their knees brush. “— and I know I ain’t just looking at a father right now.” 

Cas smiles into his dinosaur mug, in a manner so _gentle_ and unlike what Dean had seen develop from this stoic man; he'd seen that smile in Jack, and Dean feels his heart skip.

"I'm sorry about your father." Castiel murmurs, eventually. "I understand it must be hard."

"Yeah, well." Dean stares ahead. "Still not kinda...still don't feel real. Not yet."

He stares at the drawn curtains in front of them. He blinks as he feels a hand on his left shoulder, glancing to see Cas gazing at him. "I… didn’t really know my own father, or _Chuck_ as my elder brother called him, left when I was young. All I really remember is that he loved to play the guitar. But I... know what it is to grieve, Dean, I can--"

"-- I think someone killed him," Dean blurts out, and he wishes he could stare at himself because _what the fuck?_

It doesn't take long for Cas to frown, his head tilting.

"What makes you think that?"

"I, uh," Dean stammers over himself for a moment, before he can gather his thoughts. He places the coffee cup down and reaches for the inside of his jacket, pulling John's Journal out. "Uh, my dad, in the hospital — he slipped me this note, some coordinates. He was a marine, it was something he'd do a lot to let me and Sam know where he was headin' next though we never figured out why — anyway, it led to a storage container, and it then to this journal, which is full of stuff about mom, and --" Dean feels his voice crack for a moment. He stubbornly pushes on. "And the last page had this."

Dean flips to it and shows Cas. Cas stares, long, at the name. 

"I'll help you." Cas murmurs. "You help me, I'll help you." He looks at Dean. "Deal?"

Dean stares. "Uh, sure? You sure? You got a kid, and--"

"-- _And_ I used to hold the rank of Captain in the U.S Navy. And I have a crime boss for a brother. I think I'll manage," Castiel remarks, steely. He stares at Dean. 

"Man, and I thought my family was messed up." Dean breathes. And then he laughs. Cas looks at him in surprise.

_Military Vet-turned-Single-Dad and a Kindergarten teacher. What could go wrong?_


	8. Careless Whispers

Dean wasn't wrong. Sam is an _extremely_ tall man. Sam looms over him, a little apologetically, while they stand awkwardly outside Gabriel's bar. 

Sam holds a hand out as he approaches. "Hey, you must be Castiel."

Castiel gives a short nod, returning the handshake after a slightly awkward, "and you're Sam."

Sam nods, hair whipping about his face from the wind. "Shall we head inside?"

The bar is silent, save for some noises from Gabriel from the back. The bar isn't technically open yet, so all the more room for privacy. Sam lays out some papers as they wait on some coffee, Gabriel giving a lingering look to the man. Castiel rolls his eyes to himself. Sam clicks the end of his pen. It’s smooth and black and has some official company name printed on it, but it’s too small for Castiel to see. 

"Right, so. I'm going to need as many details as I can. About what happened, about what you did, about the situation you find yourself in now. If you have any physical evidence on you that would be great, otherwise I'll need as much as that as soon as possible. Then I'll have to take it back to the firm and hopefully be able to take on your case personally."

Castiel nods, then hesitates. "The payment, I--"

Sam shakes his head, waves a hand. "From what Dean told me, I wouldn't worry. There are subsidies available, or payment options. You _definitely_ shouldn't be approaching this situation without a lawyer."

Castiel sighs, anxieties only slightly appeased. "Alright, then." 

Their coffees arrive, Gabriel disappears, and Castiel tells Sam as much as he can (he has the same slight draw of his lips when focused as Dean, Castiel notes) and shows him the letter of appeal for custody alongside the birth certificate. Sam is halfway through his second coffee by the time Castiel finishes. 

Sam writes quicker than anyone Castiel has seen, and he leaves him in silence until Sam places his pen down with a sigh. "Definitely seems like we can have something to argue. You've cared for Jack all his life; Lucifer is still on parole, there's evidence of prior abuse. He probably has some extremely good lawyers he can afford, but we have a lot to use." Sam frowns. "And I'm not terrible, either."

Castiel blinks at him. Dean basted his self-confidence in an almost ritually self-deprecating manner. Sam seems genuine, and Castiel wonders somewhere how much of that Dean is responsible for. He nods. "Okay. When will..."

Sam looks at the date. "Few days, hopefully. Just need to check with the firm."

Castiel nods, soberly, and takes a sip of his cold coffee. He realises Sam is watching him. 

"How did you get to know Dean, anyway?"

Castiel sighs. "He was Jack’s new Kindergarten teacher. Then we kept running into each other." He deliberates for a moment. "He's a... very compassionate man. I can understand why he chose to look after children for a living."

Sam laughs a little wryly. "Yeah, well. He practically brought me up, so I think he thinks it's all he knows how to do."

"If all he knows how to do is care for others, then there are less righteous pursuits."

Sam shrugs a little. "Yeah. But he...he kinda struggles to accept he needs lookin' after too, y'know?" Castiel nods. Sam sighs. "Kinda wonder what he'll do once the wedding happens."

"Wedding?"

"Yes — I'm getting married in a few months." Sam remarks. "I'll move out after that, then Dean's going to have the apartment to himself.”

"So he doesn't have a partner?" 

Sam looks at Castiel, a little amused. "No, don't think he's had someone serious since...well. I'm not even sure. Jo, maybe. But that was a few years ago.”

Sam's suddenly looking at him as though he knows something Castiel doesn't, so Castiel quickly glances down at the array of papers on the desk. He’s not used to having that gaze turned back on him. 

"Congratulations," he says, with as much sincerity as he can give to a man he's just met. Sam acknowledges it with a nod. 

"Thanks."

"I...am also sorry about your father. I understand it has brought some difficult situations to light."

Sam nods, then pauses with a frown. "What do you mean, 'to light?’"

Dean pulls up at Singer's Scrapyard. The feel of the bumps and potholes in the road that Baby complains about are as familiar to him as he supposes any home would be; he'd spent years working in and out of this garage, from being a snot nosed little kid to climbing into his car covered in grease and sweat from a long workday laid underneath some old car that needed fixing while he finished his schooling. 

Dean doesn't even bother knocking, instead pushing the door open and entering the house. He peers into the pokey landing. 

"Bobby?"

"Through here." 

Dean wanders through to the kitchen, where Bobby is hunched over a small saucepan. By the smell he is reheating some beans. Dean leans against the doorframe. 

"You know that Ellen would probably just give you your lunch for free if you turned up to her diner?"

Bobby grunts. "Not gonna take advantage of hospitality like that."

Dean rolls his eyes. 

"Sure. I'll tell her that," he mutters, before opening the fridge. He quickly calculates something in his mind, before pulling out a bottle of beer. He opens it with the bottle opener stuck on the fridge, some cheesy magnetic moose that Jo had bought him as a joke one year. Everyone cracked up when Bobby remarked how _Sam's now an ever intimidating presence_ once he’d stuck it on the fridge.

He takes a swig, only to find Bobby staring at him. Dean blinks. "Yeah?"

"As much as I enjoy you wanderin' into my house to drink my beer, I know you got plenty at home." He pauses. "What are you doin' here?"

Dean looks uncomfortable. There wasn't much point dancing around it. "It's about Dad." 

Bobby's face falls from one of suspicion to confusion. "What?"

Dean reaches inside his jacket, pulling out the journal. "Before he died, he gave me coordinates. Found this."

He passes it to Bobby, who opens it. His expression becomes more and more steely the longer he looks. Dean feels his chest tightening. 

"What? What is it?" 

Bobby sighs, slapping the journal back on the Kitchen counter. He's almost forgotten about the beans on the stovetop, and curses as he goes to stir it and finds it's started sticking to the bottom. He stirs it for a few moments, thinking deeply. 

"Yeah, I knew about that."

" _What_?"

Bobby looks at him quickly with a glare. "Hold yer horses, boy. Let me finish." He turns the stove off, the steam curling into the paint cracked ceiling. "'Course I had an idea. One of the first things that happened after the fire was John bringing you boys here." 

Dean tries to think if he remembers that. He just remembers fire, and how wet his feet were after running outside. _Run outside as fast as you can, go, Dean, go--_

Bobby moves the saucepan, banging it in his frustration. "He carted you boys around for years, dumping you in motels and our laps because the insurance ruled it as an electrical fault, but he damn well knew it wasn't the case. Someone had killed her." Bobby scrambles for a bowl, opening and slamming cupboard doors as he does so. Eventually he pulls out a faded pink bowl with painted flowers on the side. The china has started to crack. "Mary was a lawyer, just like Sammy, and yer Dad was sure that she'd found something out she shouldn't. He'd never tell me much though." He glances down at the journal. "Y'might wanna spend time reading through it if you haven't already. What has Sam had to say 'bout it?"

Dean pointedly looks away, but he can feel Bobby staring. 

"Don't you dare tell m--"

"Dad gave me the note, alone. Just hadn't found the time to--"

"Bullshit," Bobby barks, grabbing some slices of bread. He dunks one into the bowl of beans. "Stop carryin' this stuff by yourself, boy. Sam's not a kid no more, and you ain't protectin' him by keeping quiet."

Dean sighs, long. "I'm not. Told you, didn't I? Also might have brought it up with—" It dawns on him how strange this will sound, and he feels heat brushing his cheeks with something like embarrassment. "—with Cas."

Bobby's eyes narrow. "Cas? Y'mean the--"

Dean's phone vibrates. They both stare at each other, before Dean pulls out the phone. It's a text. From Sam. 

_What's this about Dad's journal?_


	9. Blues Brothers

Dean can feel the glare before he even opens the door, lingering on the other side of the small apartment that they call their home.

Soon to be just his.

His keys hover over the keyhole, lingering in front of the door. He closes his eyes and takes a deep sigh, before pushing the door open.

He can't exactly _see_ Sam, but he can sense him hovering in the kitchen on the other side of the room. The rest of the apartment is dark but for one of the lamps in the kitchen silhouetting his figure. It was like Sam was _trying_ to scare him. 

"Dude, you blind now? Put some damn lights on, man--"

Just before his hands reaches it a body slams into him, sending him flying to the floor.

"What the _fuc--"_

He and the other body mass tumble onto the living room floor, scrabbling for purchase; it only takes a few moments for Dean's muscle memory to settle on the mass of long limbs and exerted grunts. 

"The fu--" Dean gasps, and they roll along the floor _extremely_ ungracefully; Sam has the element of surprise though, so it doesn't take long for Sam to have him pinned, triumphantly sitting on his stomach. Dean wheezes.

"Sam, the fuck--"

"Could ask the same thing." Sam replies grumpily, frowning down at him. Dean relents his attempts to push free of the moose of a man, and so he drops his arms with a sigh. He can't look at him.

"I was gonna tell you eventually, Sammy."

"But not as soon as it happened. Not before you went to the storage unit. Not before I had to have a potential client and a man you barely _know_ tell me that."

Dean looks away. "Yeah, well. We were sharing secrets at the time, slumber party style. Felt like a good time."

He feels Sam stare at him, eyebrow raised, and something in his subconscious wriggles uncomfortably. Dean wheezes. 

"You _can_ get off of me now, man—you made your point--"

Sam glares at him. Then throws a soul piercing stare, the one that only a younger sibling can graduate with, one that has seen you through every goddamn awkward and regretful moment of your life. A sibling that equips the insight that comes with knowing _every damn dark secret_ of Dean's, even the ones Dean doesn't know himself. Dean is all of a sudden afraid. _Very afraid._

Then Sam dives for Dean's pocket and Dean yells (he does _not_ scream, thank you very much), flailing desperately for the last remnant of dignity he may or may not have.

" _Sammy, fuck off!_ \--"

He and Sam's struggle begins again, Sam pushing away Dean's arms and going for his jacket. Again, the fight is short lived (Dean is _clearly_ getting rusty, or old) and Sam successfully fishes his phone out of his pocket. Dean yells (again, not _screams)_ at him.

"Oh, you _motherfucker_ \--"

Sam laughs in delight, hopping off of Dean and bounding to the kitchen, shoving the coat hanger that he'd draped with his coat into Dean's face. While Dean attempts to wrestle with the various limbs of the hanger, Sam is tapping urgently away at his phone. Dean's stomach swells in fear—flustering him and lowering his defences against the coat hanger.

By the time Dean has bested the immobile beast, shoving it to the side, Sam is staring at him. And _grinning._ Dean has yet to see a scarier sight.

" _What did you do_?" Dean hisses, not sure he wants the answer.

Sam shrugs, handing the phone back to Dean. "You're picking him up at seven on Friday."

" _What_?"

Dean scrambles with his phone, opening it up to see who Sam had been texting. He feels his cheeks heat up when his eyes settle on the name.

_Castiel._

"What the fuck did you _do_?"

Sam shrugs, leaning against the counter. "You tell a guy about something to do with _our_ dad before me, it's pretty clear there's something _up_ with you, so I thought I'd help you along. Like a good little brother does."

Dean is bright red, and he doesn't need to look into a mirror to know that. "You--"

"Dean." Sam sighs. "You should've seen how he talked about you when I met with him earlier. He also said yes to the date."

Dean bites his lip, staring down at the screen.

_Hey, was wondering...could I take you out sometime soon?_

_Really?_

_:) When you free?_

_Jack's aunt is babysitting Friday evening._

_Cool. Pick you up 7?_

_Of course._

"This better make us even," Dean grumbles. 

"For now, sure." Sam nods. "As long as you stop keeping shit from me, man."


	10. Ramble On

Dean takes him to a diner. 

Cas gives Jack to Anna for the night, ruffling his hair and giving him a kiss on the forehead as he bounces alongside Anna up towards the door to her house. Cas watches all the way until they disappear behind as the door closes. He clenches down on the clawing guilt that always threatens whenever he hands Jack over to someone else for a while, or gets a babysitter in—no matter how many times people say he doesn't do it enough. 

The purr of the Impala pulls up at exactly 7pm, and Cas restrains himself long enough to wait until there's a knock on his door.

Despite being ready, Castiel delays himself. He opens the door, still deciding what expression to wear, when he sees Dean in front of him. 

Dean has his hands clasped in front of him, unsure how to place himself. He's wearing slim jeans, a buttoned shirt (with the top two undone), and a leather jacket. Cas stares. He looks... stunning. Not something he thought he'd describe Jack's _kindergarten teacher_ as.

Dean smiles, shy, and Castiel is pulled from his thoughts. "Hey, uh. You ready?" 

Castiel nods quietly, unable to take his eyes off Dean, and steps out of his house. 

"You look...beautiful," Castiel finally manages, and Dean flushes. Did Dean not receive many compliments?

“Uh. Thanks.” Dean mumbles, and leads him back to his car, parked at the kerbside at the end of the path. He opens the passenger door for Cas, waiting until he slides in. Castiel brushes by Dean as he does so, and he can smell the mix of sandalwood, leather and mint that makes up Dean’s cologne (and chewing gum, apparently) as he sits down. He forgets all his creeping concerns about neighbors peering into this moment of his. The door closes beside him and a moment later Dean slides in. He starts the ignition and the Impala purrs to life. Dean glances to his side with a grin, cheeks still tinged.

“ _Baby_ likes you, huh.” 

Softly, Castiel reaches out a hand, brushing his fingers along the dashboard. “She is also stunning.”

Dean beams. 

They drive to a diner, one that is tucked away on the highway just outside of town, one that is only often frequented by road trip users, Truck drivers, and those looking for an undisclosed place to meet. Dean swears by it on their way over, particularly as it’s run by someone he’s known since he was a kid. 

They pull in, and when they enter, a soft and weathered lady called Ellen greets Dean with a hug that somehow manages to envelop him despite him almost being twice her height. Dean bashfully introduces Castiel to her, hand pressing hard if inconsistently against Cas’ left shoulder blade. Ellen gives him a look over before smiling and pats a hand on his bicep, guiding the both of them over to an empty booth at the end of the diner. “Bill is on me, boys, for tonight only” is all she says, with a pointed look at Dean, before disappearing back into the kitchen. 

Dean slides into the seat opposite Cas, grinning. Castiel isn't sure he's ever seen the man smile so much. Dean clasps his hands together on top of the table, fidgeting with one of the rings on his fingers. “She’s great, huh?”

“I can see why she’s important to you.” 

Dean’s grin draws quiet at that, glancing at Cas with a soft look in his eyes. “Yeah. Glad she was around when I was a kid."

Castiel nods, and a small but uncomfortable silence settles in around them. He distracts himself by taking time to glance round the room. It wasn't luxurious by any means; just a simple diner with some pokey decorations. It was due for a repaint, and the furniture was clearly outdated and in dire need of replacement.

Cas only realises that Dean is staring at him when his gaze finally rests back on his, and he blinks. Dean glances away quickly for a moment. 

"Uh, so... uh. How long did you serve for?"

Castiel pauses for a moment. "Around 5 years." 

Dean blinks. "Oh. Pretty long time."

Castiel nods. "It was meant to put me through school. I served, and once my tour was done I'd be able to go."

"What were you gonna do?"

"Well, I was a medic. I was hoping to continue on and perhaps become some form of medical professional. I'm not sure what I'd have specialised in. Maybe a doctor."

"But that didn't happen." Dean remarks, more of a statement than a question. He fiddles with one of the coasters on the table, but can see Cas nod from his peripheral. 

"No, it didn't. Jack happened." 

"Do you regret it?" Dean blurts out, and he glances down at himself as though to say _Dude, the hell?_ Castiel just shakes his head. 

"No. I... I suppose I like to think of it as choosing to save one life, rather than just having the _chance_ to save others."

Dean stares at him, but says nothing. For the first time, Castiel finds _himself_ feeling uncomfortable. 

"Two drinks on delivery to the most handsome boys in the diner," a female voice serenades from beside them and Dean drags his gaze away to stare up at the approaching waitress. Young, female. If Castiel had to guess, possibly Ellen's daughter? He wouldn't suppose to presume, though.

"Well, ain't _today_ just your lucky day." 

Jo passes Dean a wink as she places the drinks down in front of the men. Dean smirks at her, but it drops when he looks over to him. Jo still flashes Castiel a smile, before wandering off with the empty tray. Dean shrugs with one shoulder.

"Heh, me and Jo, we go way back. Like a sister to me." 

"Mhm." Cas acknowledges. Sam’s voice floats by as it dawns on him. _Maybe Jo, but that was years ago._ He stares at the bottle of beer as Dean opens it for him. He notices the slight shake in Dean's hands.

"Did you always want to be a teacher?" Castiel asks, before the silence can strain itself anymore. Dean clears his throat. 

"Not sure. Used to work for Bobby—he runs a mechanics shop, dunno if you've met him yet. You stick around any longer you'll run into him somewhere in town, I bet. Grumpiest man in the world, has a baseball cap permanently glued to his head. Can't miss him. Bobby insisted I should 'do something with those smarts' after Sammy went off to law school. I wanted to keep supportin' Sam, but I ended up goin' through school myself while workin’ part time for Bobby. Been rockin’ the teacher life about five years, now."

Castiel considers him. Dean stares back, beer bottle half frozen to his lips. 

"Do you enjoy it?"

Dean shrugs and forces a hard gulp of the beer. "Yeah, s'pose I do. Pays a bit better to help Sam out until he passed his bar exam recently." 

Castiel can feel himself frown. To his surprise, Dean immediately catches it.

"What?" Dean asks. "Wouldn't be doing it for five years if I didn't."

Castiel tilts his head, a little amused. "I didn't say anything. I just remember walking into Jody's dining room once and finding you, outside of your work hours, sat helping Jack with an assignment _you_ had set him to do at home."

"Yeah?"

Castiel shakes his head. "You're allowed to enjoy yourself, Dean. You're allowed to be compassionate and enjoy being compassionate, outside of your own dedication to your brother."

Their food arrives, this time by Ellen. She gives them a smile that falters at the rather sheepish looks being shared between them.

"Your burgers, gentlemen."

She passes a worried glance at Dean before wandering off again. To Castiel's surprise, Dean raises a bottle in a toast. 

"To enjoying ourselves then, I guess." 

Cas gives a nod, before grasping the bottle and touching the neck with Dean's. It clinks and they both swallow more than they intend. Dean coughs. 

The rest of the meal, and the consequential drive home, is quiet. _I've blown it_ , Dean mantras to himself. 

Dean pulls up outside Cas's house, and Dean walks with him to the door once it's clear Castiel isn't about to reject him. There's a quiet pause as they stand outside of the door, glancing not quite at each other. It's late evening, and the rest of the street has seemingly turned in for the night.

"Thank you for tonight, Dean," Cas murmurs, and Dean glances down at him. They'd never quite stood this close before, and it only really clicks with him now how Cas is _shorter_ than him. He's so used to Cas standing so tall, it hadn't quite occurred to him before. 

Cas presses a hand to his shoulder. "I will... see you soon." He says.

Dean dips his head. "Yeah. Was... good."

To his surprise, Cas leans and slides his hands behind Dean's back and wraps his arms around him, holding him tight. Dean freezes at the motion. 

His arms work before his brain does, and he reaches, squeezing Cas' shoulders. They stand there for a long, long moment, and Dean tucks his head against the other male’s neck.

Cas gives him a deep look as they eventually unravel from the embrace, unspoken words imprinted in the creases of soft breaths and fingers pressing in worn leather. Dean inclines his head, and tries a small smile.

Castiel nods, and his hand gently squeezes Dean's arm. With one last glance, Cas turns and enters the house in silence. The door closes behind him with a soft click, and Dean watches, alone.


	11. Bow Ties are Cool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small note - there are some mild descriptions of someone passing away up ahead. Also some ghastly fashion sense.

"Bow ties are for losers," Dean mutters, feeling the cloth being affixed around his neck. Some older man peers up at him behind thick rimmed glasses. Dean has to find everything in himself not to pull a face at the presumptuous guy. 

"Well, it's my wedding," Sam remarks, looking rather pleased with himself, and not that Dean would admit it in this current moment—rather dapper in his tailored suit. "So get used to it." 

Dean rolls his eyes. Sam clearly hasn't _quite_ forgiven him yet for the whole not-telling-him-about-Dad thing. He estimates it'd take some awful practical joke and then Sam will be satisfied. The joke hadn't come yet, so Dean was trying to not feel too paranoid about it. 

The tailor seems satisfied, so Dean shoves Sam out of the way to get a good look at himself in the mirror. He frowns for a moment, turning a little to the left and right. "Huh." He remarks. "Maybe bow ties can be cool." 

It's Sam's turn to roll his eyes behind him; easily seen from looming over Dean's shoulder. He fidgets with the cuffs of his sleeves for a moment, wondering whether they're long enough. "How'd it go?"

Dean blinks. "How'd what go?" He asks, like _a liar_. 

"Cas. The date. Ellen didn't seem too optimistic." 

"Oh, great," Dean mutters, because of _course_ they'd been talking about him. He wouldn't be surprised if they'd been coordinating emergency response from the kitchen in case it went _too_ badly. "It was okay. We ate our meal, drove him home, saw him to the door. That's all."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "Wow. Either he _is_ special, or you really flunked it." 

Dean frowns at him through the mirror. "Whaddya mean?"

"I've never known you not to successfully bring a girl home. You either get slapped at the bar or she leaves with you." 

Dean glares. "Yeah, well. He's got a kid, hasn't he? And I'm not—ladies, sure, but bringing _guys_ home isn't the same thing." 

Sam sighs. "Not sure who you’re trying to reassure here, Dean."

Dean frowns. 

"Dunno what you're talking about. Anyway, nothing happened, dunno if anything will. His kid is still my student and you're still helpin' him, so I'm sure I'll see him around at some point. No big deal."

"What are you _afraid_ of, Dean?" Sam asks, pointedly. Dean can hear the tailor bustling around in the background. They ignore him. 

" _Nothing_." Dean insists. "Just because you're my brother, doesn't mean you know everything about me."

 _Doubt_ , Sam's expression reads. "Well, then, surely I'm wrong in assuming that you can't _possibly_ be afraid of the _chance_ of losing someone else." 

"Did you know he's a vet, Sammy?" Dean says, coldly. Sam glances up at him through the mirror, eyebrows raised. "How do I know he ain't like Dad was?"

Sam stares at him. He's silent for a long, long moment. "Because he's not. From what I understand, he stopped his whole life just to look after a child that isn't even biologically his." 

Sam peers over Dean to adjust his own bow tie, and lightly punches Dean in the shoulder. "He's a medic, Dean. Dad was a marine."

Cas stands at the entrance to his living room. He folds his arms, looking at the epicentre with a sigh. "Jack, we can't leave it like this."

Jack stands in the middle of the room, blinking up at Cas as though he simply has _no_ clue what his dad could possibly be talking about. He's clutching some monster form of a truck he's created. 

The floor was _covered_ in Lego. It was like a rainbow had decided to regurgitate itself up on half of Castiel's house. He sighs. He's not sure if even _this_ would have been deemed a safe environment in basic training.

"Hold on," Castiel notes, rubbing at his brow. He disappears into the kitchen and returns a few moments later, handling a pan and brush. As soon as Jack sees it, he begins to whine. 

"I'm not throwing it away." Cas reassures, leaning down to begin sweeping. "But you should start picking up what's around you." 

He feels Jack watch him for a few moments, before he protectively nurses his truck under his arm while trying to pick up the Lego with one hand. Cas has swept a path to him just as Jack starts debating whether he needs to give up his truck for the sake of tidiness. He doesn't seem happy about it. 

"Jack, pass it to me," he says, holding out his hand. Jack looks at him as though wondering whether he should trust this adult man with his _piece de resistance,_ but he slowly gives it up. Cas leans over and deposits it safely on the couch, pulling an intense ab crunch to lean that far without falling into the lava pool of the Lego. He is _definitely_ out of practice, even with hefting around a wriggly five year old.

"You can play with it once we're done cleaning, okay?"

Jack gives a hesitant nod. "Okay." 

As they begin cleaning, Cas is rather more effective with his adult motor skills even with Jack's enthusiasm and the brush and pan. Cas still allows him the honour of dumping it into the plastic tub therefore known as Lego Jail. 

Out of nowhere, Jack exclaims. "Aunty Anna said you went on a date with Mr. Winchester last night."

Castiel has to turn his head, save Jack see his surprised expression. "Oh, did she now?" He exclaims, silently tucking away a note to maim his sister the next time she saw him. He'd expect that behaviour from _Gabriel_. 

Jack comes to a stop, as though pondering the deepest reaches of the universe. For all Cas knew, he was. "Isn't a date like... like when you...." He covers his hand with his mouth, as though about to say something abhorrent. "When you do kissing?"

"It can be, yes." Cas says, simply. He motions Jack to continue the sweeping. 

"Did you kiss Mr. Winchester?" Jack asks, boggle eyed. Cas sighs. 

"No, I didn't. We had a very nice meal together, then I came back home." 

Jack nods, an acceptable answer. Castiel wonders when Jack became the gatekeeping parent; not the other way round. 

"Do you like Mr. Winchester?"

Cas leans back on his haunches with a blink. Jack is staring at him, seriously, so he spends a moment contemplating the question more than he should. "...He's a very nice man, yes." Cas pauses. "He's very caring, and very funny, and smart."

Jack leans down to sweep a little ineffectually at the carpet. "Well _I_ like him. He does funny voices during story time." 

Castiel finds himself smiling. 

"Do you like him because mom isn't around anymore?"

Castiel's expression falls and he wavers, as though Jack had punched him. "What?"

Jack's not even looking at him, too busy trying to grasp a rebellious piece of Lego. He sighs hard at Cas, as though _he_ was the one who just didn't _get it_ . "I _said_ , do you like him because mom isn't around anymore?"

Castiel stares at Jack. His mind phases into Kelly, and how she'd smile at him so _genuinely_ while he was surrounded by baby books, desperately researching on the best way to handle a child. He remembers how soft her hair felt when he'd tuck it behind her ears while she was vomiting, rubbing gently at her back.

He remembers her hand in his, slackening, cooling. He remembers green eyes, glassed over. 

"I like Dean because I do, Jack." Cas says, voice caught in his throat. He thinks of freckles and broad shoulders, and green, green eyes. Vibrant. "I loved your mom, but I might be able to love Dean, too."

"Well you always said I'm like mommy, and I like Mr Winchester, so I think she would have too. So I think that's okay." Jack nods sagely, and lets an armful of Lego go into the tub, creating a satisfying crunching sound. "Can I have my truck back now." He realises Cas isn't responding, and turns to look at him. "Pretty please?"


	12. Family Matters

"What's best, clearly, is that Jack thus remains with his biological Father."

Castiel grips the edge of the desk, squeezing his eyes shut as he attempts to compose himself. He can feel Sam take a deep breath beside him. 

"Your Honor, if I may—lifting Jack so crudely from his current living environment, especially during such a crucial time in his development when there is in fact nothing wrong with it--" 

"And how are we sure that Castiel is capable of providing a stable living environment? If this is not the case, then surely Jack's ultimate upbringing would be best with his _actual_ father."

The judge ( _Billie_ , she was introduced as) nods. "Very well. While there has been little evidence so far that Castiel has failed in providing the basic amenities and caregiving that a child of Jack's age should provide, we can rule into investigating such a thing." 

Castiel ducks his head, and sighs.

Dean has been in two minds the whole day. He wanted to be there at the hearing, especially after hearing the news. (That they all knew, but still.) But, after the last time Dean properly saw him...

He's absent-mindedly jangling his car keys in his hands as he walks into the reception area, coming to a stop as he sees Cas and Sam walking out. Good timing, then. He tries a smile at Cas—who isn't even looking at him, staring off somewhere, jaw set. Sam gives him a half-hearted shrug in greeting. 

"Hey, Sammy. Cas," Dean notes, and Cas finally looks at him. They stare for a moment. "How're things?"

Before either of them can reply, another individual drifts to a stop beside them. They all look up, and Dean's shoulders tense. 

Lucifer stands there, with a sour look directed at both Sam and Cas. "I can't believe you, brother." He says, surprisingly soft. He turns to face him, looming over his younger brother. "You're family, and yet you choose to deprive me of my own son." 

To Dean's surprise, Cas just stands there. He'd have expected Castiel to raise his hackles or something, growl back at Lucifer—anything like the proud, stubborn father that Dean had seen previously. But he doesn't. His expression is hard, but his shoulders are hunched, as though he's forgotten how to stand. Lucifer leers over him.

"Perhaps your time serving broke you beyond repair, but family _matters_. Jack grew up without his mother." His voice breaks. "And now you're depriving him of his father, too." 

Cas stares at the ground, and Dean glares at Lucifer, looking between them in shock at the utter _audacity_ this bastard has-- 

"So detached from your own humanity, can't even reunite a father with his son." Lucifer sniffles. "I can't believe you." 

" _Enough_ ," both Sam and Dean say, simultaneously. Lucifer rears his head, looking at them both with narrowed eyes—all appearances of the concerned father wiped from his face. 

"This is a matter to resolve inside the courtroom," Sam says, testily. "So I think this conversation can continue there, when properly due."

Lucifer looks between the both of them with an unreadable expression, lingering on Dean for a moment. He feels a shiver when Lucifer roams his eyes across his body. 

"Very well. But that doesn't refute what I said," he says, and walks off—his lawyer, Crowley, in tow. As soon as they're sure Lucifer has left, Dean steps towards Cas.

"Cas, don't listen to him--"

He stops when he sees that Castiel is shaking. His footing stumbles a little when he sees tears in Cas' eyes. 

"He's right," Cas says, sighing deeply, holding in a dry sob. "I'm not his father. I can't keep lying to Jack like this."

"No, Cas--" Sam steps up beside him. "Blood relations don't always hold as much sway as you think they do. Kelly put you on the birth certificate--" 

Cas shakes his head. "I can't. I know him, I can't. I can't win this." 

"Cas, you're--"

Cas doesn't hang around to listen, however. He pushes himself out of Sam and Dean's way, leaving the courthouse without so much as a goodbye. Both brothers stand there, watching him go. 

Sam sighs. "He isn't wrong. Lucifer is good. Too good." 

Dean stares at the revolving doors. "Yeah, but he ain't Cas," he mumbles. "Pretty sure I know what Jack cares 'bout more." 

Cas walks to his car, silent. 

As he approaches it, he stops, arms hanging loose, staring at the door. 

He raises a fist, and punches the hood of the car. It's hard enough that the car alarm is triggered, shrieking down the crowded street. A few people turn to look. Castiel sighs, sniffs, and pulls out his keys. As he does so, something catches the corner of his eye.

It's an envelope, tucked into the windshield. Tentatively, Cas leans over, and pulls it out. His own name is handwritten on the front, and is unsealed.

As he opens it, he pulls out scraps of paper - and realises that they're all receipts, or invoices. Confusion bubbling in him, Castiel opens his door (glancing around to see he's not being watched), before sliding in and sifting through them. 

Lucifer. Invoices. Payments.

Department of Law. Invoice to: Department of Rep. 

Monthly check to:

_Azazel._


	13. All of the While

"Hey, Kid." Ellen smiles at him from behind the counter. "Y' doing alright?"

Dean gives her a tight smile. "Doing alright." He pauses. "Can I get a large fries and two coffees?" 

"Sure," Ellen notes, but looks pointedly at the  _ two _ for a moment. "Got company?"

Dean sighs. "Yeah, Cas should be gettin' here soon." 

As much as Ellen tries to hide it, Dean can see the smile flit her expression, even if only in her eyes. "Oh?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Yeah, got some business to discuss." 

Before Ellen can prod further, the bell jingles to signify the door opening, and Cas walks through. He looks  _ tired _ , feet dragging. 

Dean tries a smile at him, no matter how unsure it feels. "Hey, Cas." 

Cas just nods at him, then nods at Ellen, who nods respectfully back and thus completes the trifecta of awkward nodding. Dean wonders what would happen if Jo appeared at this moment.

"Shall we?" Cas finally asks Dean, and Dean nods soberly.

"I'll bring your coffees over," Ellen notes, and Dean acknowledges her with a wave of his hand this time, lest they be cursed.

They slide into the same seats they had the last time they were here, and Dean wonders if Cas realises. From how observant he is—probably. 

"Well?" Dean asks, distracting himself by picking at a coffee stirrer. He twirls it between his fingers. 

Castiel nods, and quietly pulls out the envelope from beneath his jacket. He slides it over to Dean.

Ellen comes and drops off the coffee and fries, but Dean is too engrossed opening the envelope to pay attention to her.

Castiel wasn't wrong, with the text and the pictures he had sent. There were several invoices of Lucifer's accounts, paying off official local departments, and a monthly payment dating back for as long as the records go to an  _ Azazel _ . 

"Who names their kid Azazel?" Dean mutters, lost in thought. He feels Cas stare at him. "Sorry, I meant that—It's gotta be a code name."

Cas nods. He absent-mindedly steals a fry from Dean's plate, chewing on it thoughtfully. Dean surprisingly finds himself not affronted by it—in fact, it's rather endearing.  _ Damnit, Sammy was right. _

"Most of the payments are one offs, which implies bribery." Cas remarks. "But the Azazel payment is monthly, the same amount, on every receipt and statement there—some of them go back years, and of which several are dated from his sentencing."

Dean stares at the receipts, as though the answer will leap out at him. "Charity case?"

"Retirement fund." Cas remarks. "Enough to live on."

Dean gazes down at the notes. 

Cas sighs. He leans in, and speaks low. "Dean, Lucifer had to learn how to be such an asshole from  _ someone _ ." 

Dean continues to stare down at the notes, but he's no longer looking.  _ Azazel.  _

Dean doesn't realise he's running his hands through his hair, until Cas reaches up and gently catches his wrist with his fingers. Cas is gazing at him seriously, but so gently that Dean feels tears sting at his eyes. He’s not sure why. 

"Cas," Dean says, and his voice feels much more frail than it should. "I dunno, man. This is, this is way out of our— _ my— _ league."

He blinks stupidly at Cas, hoping that he didn't notice the slip, before pointedly looking away. He hears Cas sigh. 

"Dean,  _ parenthood _ is out of anyone's league. But we keep trying." 

"But this isn't being a Mom or Dad, this is—this is messed up." He takes a breath. "It's about revenge, it's about making sure what happened to Mom, or Dad, doesn't end in vain, but if he--" He sighs. "If he's involved with Lucifer, then—then it's so much bigger than I wanted."

"You don't  _ have _ to take revenge, Dean." Cas says, sharply. Dean finally looks at him, and Cas gazes at him, so  _ determined _ . "Justice and revenge aren't the same thing. Just because it's what your father threw away most of your and your brother's childhood doing, does  _ not _ mean you must follow. You  _ deserve _ to give yourself that choice." 

It's Cas' turn to look away; staring at some faded poster of the local fishery. "I... have to tell myself that, about Lucifer. He's not trying to have justice for his son, he's trying to get revenge for Kelly leaving him." His voice breaks a little. "She's gone. There's no vengeance for the dead, just… grief.”

Dean stares at him, silent. Cas still has his fingers gently wrapped around his wrist, but he's still looking away, brows furrowed. Resolute.

"Kelly was so lucky to have you." Dean breathes, and Castiel looks at him.  _ Sees _ him, with that soft gaze of blue iris and the creases tucked around his eyelids that hold them. or just… Fucking  _ hell _ , this man knew how to strike him down with a look.

"I'm... just—I'm glad that, uh—that Sammy is helping you, and--"

"Dean," Cas gently murmurs. Slowly, deliberately, his fingers shift, and he grasps at Dean's hand. They stare at each other in silence. Castiel squeezes his hand. "Confessions come in more than just words." 

Castiel glances around the diner for a moment, before giving Dean a meaningful look, and sliding from the Diner seat. He starts to head outside. Dean watches after him for a moment, a little awestruck, stomach curling.

If Dean just sat here, Castiel would just leave. They'd probably never bring up...  _ this _ , again. He'd continue being Jack's teacher. Cas would continue being a parent, and someone who his brother was helping out. Maybe they'd be friends. If he stayed here. 

He follows Cas outside.

He takes a breath as he steps outside of the bloated, greasy air into the crisp evening, slowly dissolving into the promise of spring. Castiel has come to a stop beside the impala. There's no one around. 

Cas gently leans against the car as Dean approaches, folding his arms. He glances down for a moment. 

"What do you want, Dean?"

Dean comes to a stop.

"I, uh." He pauses. "I'm not sure--"

"When we last came here," Cas continues. "We came here on a date. I'm not..." He clenches his hands, tucking them under his armpits. "I'm not really the 'dating' type. I have a child. I'm not—I'm not even sure I'm even over Kelly, yet." He looks sad. "But you’re a  _ good  _ person, Dean, and you’re--” he glances at Dean, and smiles so  _ gently _ at him that Dean’s breath forgets itself. “You’re one of the most compassionate men I’ve met, and--and I find myself drawn. I…”

Castiel looks down between them, staring at their feet mere inches away. He unfolds his arms. "I'm a little frightened. Of what letting someone else in may mean, or do—to me or—" He looks at him meaningfully. "Or you. I’ve lost so much already. I’m not sure I could handle anything else."

There's a long pause between them.

"Well, uh. Maybe we can, uh. Be frightened together, then," Dean comments, quietly. "I know loss, too. Everything with Dad, and it... looks like we know who killed him. Sammy is about to get married, so I’ll lose him, too. I... I dunno what my life is going to look like anymore, but I, uh," Dean smiles, wryly, looking down at himself. "I'm startin' to hope real bad it involves you somehow."

They both stand there, avoiding each other's small glances. Eventually, Dean’s feet move, and he steps until he's mere inches in front of Cas. He peers down, and Castiel tilts his head at him.

"I... think I could get involved," Cas remarks, carefully. He's staring at him again, deeply. "As long as you don't mind the mess."

It's Dean who leans forward this time. He gently pauses as he brings himself close to Castiel's face, a hand bracing itself against his car, beside the other male. Cas looks at him, gaze soft, breath mingling.

Dean kisses him.

It's short, and gentle, and almost chaste, but as he leans back, his arm slides around the shorter man's back, and Dean pulls Cas tight into his arms. 

"We can make a mess together." Dean remarks, sighing against Cas's temple. "It'll be all ours."


	14. Sunset Boulevard

"New evidence, your Honor." Sam steps forward. "If I may proceed."

"You may."

Sam strolls towards the judge’s desk with the envelope, in a sealed plastic wallet. He presents it to the judge, who then opens it, pouring out the numerous pieces of paper and invoices.

There is tense silence for a few minutes as the judge pours over the receipts, frowning. Castiel glances over to where Lucifer and Crowley stand. Both of them are staring, Lucifer with confusion, Crowley with some mild, stoic curiosity. Castiel tilts his head. _Curious, indeed_. 

"All I'm seeing are a series of payments over several years to a specific bank account."

"We have reason to believe that the receipt of those invoices is linked to a murder inquiry, your Honor."

Sam presents photocopies of John's journal, flipping to the back page.

"This journal belongs to a recently deceased person, of whom the cause of death is suspicious. There are dubious links of Lucifer's involvement to this 'Azazel'. In light of Lucifer's recent release from prison, this hardly looks like good standing for Lucifer to be in place of custody, does it not?"

"Your Honor, I object—there's nothing--"

"Silence," Billie speaks, holding a hand up to Crowley. "I think you may have a point. It indeed does not look good in Lucifer's favour to be put under investigation so soon after being released. Do you have anything to say?"

"You're going to believe some pieces of paper with my name on it?" Lucifer hisses. His previously sweet demeanor has twisted into a scowl. "This is bullshit, you can't prove _anything, especially_ when the victim in question is that bastard’s own _father_ \-- _"_

The gavel hits onto the desk to silence the court room. Billie glances to Lucifer, sharply. 

“How are you informed of that identity?”

Lucifer is silent. Castiel stares at him, and attempts to press down on the elation threatening to burst in his chest. 

Billie cocks her head at Lucifer, eyebrow raised. 

"You've recently been released from prison, and are _already_ finding yourself under investigation for links to a murder inquiry--especially after what you may have just confessed to me this very moment. I think saying that this puts your appeal for custody on shaky ground is an _understatement_ , no?”

Castiel glances back to where Dean was sitting. Dean grins at him, teeth bared. 

They find themselves at Bobby's. Castiel hadn't known what the conclusion of the hearing was going to be, so he had sent Jack to Jody's for the night, just in case. Dean had come back from a call from Bobby after they had exited the courtroom, and claimed that Bobby had invited everyone round for drinks to mark the 'end of this sodding mess'. With nothing else to do, Castiel had agreed to join them for a few drinks. 

Sam had to remain behind to cover some admin tasks, but rumbles up in his own car a short while later with a small woman sitting in the passenger seat. As soon as the car comes to a stop Dean's expression splits into a grin, and he yanks Castiel along towards the car. 

The brunette pops out of the door, and smiles widely at Dean.

"Eileen!" Dean exclaims, grabbing her into a bear hug. "It's been a day too long since I last saw ya’."

"Hello, Dean." Eileen greets with a smile and a slight lisp. Castiel squints a little, until she turns to him. He notes the slow way that her eyes scan him in the manner that one would to someone who has been aptly described before would be. "And you must be Castiel."

"Nice to meet you, Eileen." Castiel signs to her, much to everyone's surprise—except Eileen, who is _delighted_. Castiel raises an eyebrow at Dean's shocked expression. 

"What? I didn't just sit and stare at the ocean while I was serving."

Dean's shock melts into a soft smile, and he quietly squeezes his shoulder. 

Dean is sitting outside on the hood of the impala. The sun is starting to set. He takes a swig of his drink. He hears footsteps approach from beside, but doesn't question them.

Castiel stands beside him, and Dean silently motions for him to join him. Quietly, Castiel jumps onto the hood, and they sit on the hood of the impala, shoulders pressed together. They quietly look out at the sunset, comfortable silence falling between them. 

Eventually, Dean looks over to Cas; the dipping sun has kissed long shadows across his cheekbones, and the orange hue draws out the particularly deep blue of his irises. In other words: _beautiful._

 _"_ So uh, what you gonna do now?" Dean asks, forever wondering why he's stumbling over his words all of a sudden—though he knows he should know better by now. Castiel closes his eyes, and sighs.

"I might take Jack out for a daytrip. Get away for the day. Treat him."

Dean laughs a little. "I'm sure he'd love that, but I'm not sure _he's_ the one that needs treatin'."

Castiel shrugs. "He picks up on things even if they're not being said. Most children are like that." Castiel glances at him. "You should know that by now."

Dean nods, and doesn't move his gaze from him. "Well, lemme treat you. Both of you. Wherever you wanna take Jack for the day, my treat."

Castiel stares at him. Ever so slightly, he nods.

"I'd like that." he murmurs, and Dean realises he's tearing up. Surprising even himself, he doesn't panic. 

"Hey, sweetheart." Dean murmurs, reaching and brushing his thumb across the stubble of Castiel's cheek. "It's over now, yeah? You're both gonna be just fine." 

Castiel nods, squeezing his eyes shut - and dammit, if Dean can't feel the well of tears surge in his own. Dean leans in, and they kiss, Dean drawing Castiel in tight. 

They only make to break apart when they hear the front door to Bobby's open behind them, and Sam's voice:

"Hey, lovebirds!"

Dean pulls away from Castiel with a growl, less than a second away from throwing his bottle at his younger brother—until he sees Sam's shocked expression.

" _What?!"_

"Get _in here_ \- Bobby knows who gave us those invoices!"


	15. Doubtfire

The office is cramped, dark, and yet surprisingly clean. Even Castiel could tell from just walking in that he had _money_ , something you would only gain from being an associate of Lucifer's. Castiel had never quite understood just how far and wide Lucifer's _network_ stretched out. Part of him didn't want to. 

Crowley sits behind his desk, with a very posh tea set set aside, his legs crossed. Sam leads Castiel into the room, and Dean shuffles awkwardly behind. He sees Dean staring with some bemusement at a glass swan just… _sitting there_ on one of the cabinets. _Me too, Dean_. 

Crowley raises an eyebrow as they all shuffle in, and Crowley looks pointedly at Dean, then to the door. Dean blinks dumbly for a moment, before pushing it closed with his foot. 

Sam takes a seat. There is an agonising silence as Crowley leans forward, picks up his teapot, and pours tea into a fine china cup only for himself. Sam and Dean look at each other. Castiel and Sam glance at each other. 

Crowley picks up the teacup, pinky finger extended, and takes a very slow, very indulgent sip. Castiel cannot help but wonder how he hasn't burned his tongue. 

"Uh, man--"

Crowley holds up a finger to Dean with a frown. Crowley finishes his sip, takes forever to place his cup down, then smiles at them. He places his feet on his desk. 

"Hello, boys. To what do I owe the pleasure of your..." He sweeps his gaze, “ _scintillating_ …company."

Sam quietly places the now rather crumpled envelope on the desk, with all the receipts inside. Crowley stares at them.

"What is this?"

"Receipts. That were given to us."

"And what do you want _me_ to do about it?"

Sam rolls his eyes, and pulls out another letter—signed, from Crowley. He puts the two pieces of handwriting next to each other.

"Look familiar?" Sam muses. Crowley peers at it for a moment.

"Not entirely _sure_ what you're getting at."

"It's the same handwriting, and you know it." Castiel cuts in, with a growl. "You left those invoices on my car window. You want Lucifer gone."

Crowley stares at them. Then he sighs, his feet slipping off the desk as he pushes his chair back. 

"Yes, yes, you got me. I’m bloody done with him."

"Why?"

Crowley rolls his eyes. "While Lucifer was still _in there,_ things were _easy_ . Things were manageable. Had to meet and get a few contracts signed every now and again, but what of it? Sometimes I'd have to go visit him _personally_ , but for the most part, was left to my own devices. Now? Now he's out, he's running me _bloody ragged_."

Castiel can feel Dean's eyebrows raising from the back of the room. 

"So," Crowley starts, and opens the top drawer of his desk. He pulls out another envelope, already sealed. "Let's do a deal."

"This is not exactly..."

"Kosher? Do you think Lucifer _works_ with kosher?"

They're silent. 

"Exactly. _So_ . We make a deal. You do what you can to make sure Lucifer gets himself put back in, and I'll," he stares at Sam and Dean, "give you the address to the individual who calls themselves _Azazel_."

Silence.

"What?" Dean asks, shakily. "You're just gonna...give it to us?"

"Did I stutter?" Crowley asks.

"And how do you expect us to be able to do that?" Sam asks, quietly. Crowley shrugs. 

"You know as well as I do, that even _with_ winning the custody case, Lucifer isn’t going to just _give up_ . He’s far too petty for that. So...when the time comes, you know what you need to do. And you don't tell a _soul_ that I was involved. Otherwise I'll have your fucking heads." Crowley looks at them.

"Very well."

Crowley stares at Castiel. He slowly slides the envelope over to their side of the desk. Sam looks at him, before quietly placing his finger on top of it, and dragging the envelope towards him. He tucks it into his coat pocket, staring at Crowley the whole time. 

Silence. Crowley rolls his eyes.

"Get the bloody hell out of my office then, would you?"

They all awkwardly shuffle outside. They haphazardly jog back to the Impala, piling in. As soon as Castiel slams the door shut Dean has snatched the envelope from Sam (with some protest), tearing it open. He unfolds the paper. He stares.

Sam leans over, trying to peer over his older brother's shoulder. "Well?"

Dean just frowns, shaking his head. "Just some place in the middle of nowhere." 

The car collectively sighs. 

"Well, we can figure it out, then decide what to do from there." Sam notes. He stares at Dean. "No going off in the middle of the night, yeah? We don't know what we’re going into.

Dean glances back at Cas. Castiel looks at him, steadily. He looks to Sam, and nods. "Yeah, sure."

Anna pulls down her sunglasses as the car rumbles off, leaning beside the building. 

She looks down at her phone.


	16. On My Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note - take heed of the warnings - this is where many of them really start to come into play.

"You sure you're fine doing this?" Cas asks, stood in the doorway. His fingers are clutched into the lapels of Dean's jacket, and his breath ghosts over Dean's lips. 

Dean nods, smiling down at him. "Be fine. This isn't my first babysitter rodeo." He tilts his head, kissing Cas. Cas closes his eyes, humming. He feels him sigh against his lips.

"If you're sure." Cas murmurs. He looks at Dean. "I should get going." 

He kisses Dean again. Dean presses him close. "I get a feelin' you're reluctant to leave."

"Can't imagine why you may think that." But Cas sighs. He slides his arms around Dean's waist, and leans in for a moment. He takes a breath. "Okay, I'm leaving."

Dean runs a hand down his back, and Cas pulls away. Fingers brush at Dean's jawline, and he feels himself smile as Cas kisses him one last time. "Night, Dean."

"Night, Cas."

It's not often that Dean finds himself fast asleep in a place that is not his own—once he'd gotten used to the apartment that Sam and he had moved in together Dean had immediately done what Sam had dubbed as _nesting_. He now found it hard to sleep anywhere else—any lady's bedroom or motel room he'd ended up in these days he'd found himself tossing and turning most of the night. 

Maybe it was the smell of Cas that lulled him so. Or maybe God just particularly hated him that night. 

He doesn't hear the cars pulling up. He doesn't see the lights, nor rouse at the scraping at the back door, or the jittering at the window. What finally jolts him out of his sleep stupor is the sound of glass scattering across the tile floor in the kitchen. 

Dean bolts upright, and listens. Did he just dream that?

He freezes. 

Footsteps. Voices. _Stairs_. 

He curses when he realises his own gun is in his car—he didn't wanna be hanging around with it around Jack. John would be rolling in his grave. 

Dean frantically looks around for something that will help—and grabs the first thing he sees that _might_.

He barrels out onto the landing just as the perpetrators arrive at the top of the stairs. He doesn't recognise them, especially being bundled up in black, but he doesn't really need to—it's pretty obvious who _sent_ them. 

They stop and stare at him. The bigger guy turns and nods his head to one of the others, who then scarpers off down the corridor—towards Jack's bedroom. 

Dean growls, and raises the curtain pole. 

"Get _away_ from him." 

The guy stood in front of him—who in all fairness, would have given _Sam_ a height inferiority complex—immediately draws a gun on him, pointing it at Dean's head. He cocks it. 

Dean charges anyway. 

A small part of Dean's brain wonders why in the hell he'd think charging a man with a loaded gun was any part of a sensible idea, but before that particular message is coordinated with the rest of his body Dean finds his arms reaching out and curling round the other man's waist. They both go tumbling to the ground and the gun scatters from his hand, along the landing. It's a minor miracle that it doesn’t go off. 

In his peripheral Dean can hear Jack screaming, a screech of _'GET OFF ME, GET OFF ME'_ as another figure, much smaller than the one in front of him, has him thrown over their shoulder. Jack pummels as hard as he can on the back of their shoulder. Unfortunately, Bad Guy #2 doesn't seem at all phased by his valiant efforts.

Dean manages to straddle the one he's struggling with as they hit the floor, throwing a few punches at his jaw for good measure, before he reaches up to try and clutch his throat. Dean grasps his wrist and twists back, hard, which earns a loud scream from Bastard #1. With a moment of opportunity, Dean throws himself in a flail for the gun that's just out of hands reach, balancing precariously on the edge of the landing. 

_"Jack, hold on--"_

Just as his fingers brush at the handle of the gun, a sharp pain shoots behind Dean's ear, and the last things he hears are Jack’s cries as everything goes black. 

“ _Aunt Anna, you’re scaring me--”_

Technically, Cas shouldn't have his phone on his person while he's behind the counter at the gas station. But it's the middle of the night. And He trusts Dean, he does. It's just…

_Lucifer is too petty for that._

His phone vibrates from a phone call, persistent, and he has no choice but to duck into the back room, eyeing the security camera as he pulls his phone out, just in case. 

To his surprise, it's Eileen, trying to video call him. 

Frowning, and trying to stave off his creeping sense of dread, Cas answers it. "Hello, Eileen?"

Eileen is outside; that’s apparent. Secondly, the distinct sound of sirens wail in the background, accompanied by the ambient noise of a neighbourhood having tumbled out from their homes in the middle of the night. 

Eileen looks pale. 

"Castiel, it's Eileen. I tried to get a hold of Dean, but he isn't answering his phone. It's Sam. There was --"

She pauses for a moment, looking away as someone talks to her offscreen. She signs at them, before glancing back down. "There was a fire in the house. In the bedroom, Sam--"

"Is Sam okay?--"

"Sam is being taken to the hospital. I think he will be okay." She looks uncertain. "Tell Dean to come, please."

"I will. Good luck." The call ends, and Cas is left staring at the black and white, fuzzy resolution security cameras in front of him. He stares. Then he looks down, and tries to call Dean.

And tries again.

And again.

_Dean?_

Panic blooms in Cas' chest, and he turns, storming out of the back room. 

_Dean--_


	17. Fortune's Fool

Sam doesn't realise just how blankly he's staring at the computer screen until he feels a pair of gentle hands on his shoulders, rubbing deep at the knots in his muscles. He exhales, arching a little into the motion. 

Eileen presses a kiss against his temple. "You should come to bed. It's very late."

Sam sighs, and turns so that Eileen can see him. He'd been working at the papers from the custody case nearly all day. He didn't have much time left before he went on leave for the wedding, so he needed to make sure that everything was _done_. Not to mention moving. As strained as he felt about it right now, he couldn't regret this. Not now, that he knew Castiel. Not now, with Dean.

"You're right, of course." Sam signs at Eileen. With a slow stretch, he rises to his feet. Eileen looks up at him. "Don't worry about down here. You go get ready for bed," she signs at him. 

Sam nods, only realising now that he is looking away from the laptop just how exhausted he felt. His eyes are dry. When was the last time he'd even paused to make a drink?

He saunters upstairs, brushing his teeth, and half-heartedly rolling into pyjamas. He crawls under the duvet, knowing it was one of those nights where he’ll be unconscious within minutes. 

He crawls under the sheets with a sigh of relief. They'd been recently changed. He feels himself lulled to sleep, too tired to wonder where Eileen is. 

Eileen smells it before she can see it. She'd become distracted, folding away the hurricane of notes that Sam had in his folder. She didn't let herself read them, but oh my _God_ , what a storm. Was that smoke?

Eileen frowns to herself for a moment, her first thought flitting to _Has Sam lit some candles?_ It doesn't take long for her to dismiss that—Sam had clearly been extremely tired when heading to bed, and this smoke smelled too...heavy. 

Eileen drops the notes she's looking at, striding towards the hallway. "Sam?" she calls out, but feels no feet walking across upstairs. She walks into the hallway, and gasps.

The hallway is bathed in the flickering red and black of flames, all coming from upstairs. Eileen freezes.

"SAM!" She yells, and against her better instinct, begins to charge up the stairs towards the bedroom. 

Smoke billowed around her more than flame, but it was _definitely_ coming from the bedroom. Eileen tugs her jumper to cover her mouth and kicks open the bedroom door, where Sam is still _somehow_ asleep. 

"SAM!" She tries again, this time throwing herself across the bed to land on top of him, forcing him to wake. Sam grunts in surprise as the force ( _s_ _mall but mighty_ ) throws him back into consciousness. 

Sam mumbles something incoherent, only to cut himself off, coughing. Eileen doesn't know how long Sam has been in here, and the heat already has her sweating. 

"Come _on,_ " Eileen exclaims, urgently. She grips under his arm and tugs hard as she can. They both stumble out, tumbling onto the landing. The flames were beginning to crawl around the door-frames, and while Eileen attempts to go out to close the door she hisses as her hand burns on the handle. Too late, too much. 

They stumble down the stairs, both coughing, and Sam suddenly begins to resist as they near the door "My notes, my notes--"

"I will get them," Eileen insists, and pushes him out of the door before he can protest. 

Sam topples onto the front lawn in their neighbourhood, and is left to stare up in horror as Eileen disappears back into the building, flames beginning to roar from their bedroom window. 

" _Eileen,"_ Sam rasps, before curling into the grass, coughing. 

The house was empty. It was _empty_. 

Cas had never driven home so quickly in his life. 

The door was left wide open (why no neighbour had said anything or phoned _the police,_ he didn't know.) The kitchen window was smashed. On the landing pieces of furniture are everywhere—a curtain pole left. Jack’s door was wide open. They'd clearly spent no time trying to hide any evidence. Dean was gone.

Jack was gone. 

Dean's car was still in the driveway. At--at least they hadn't just left him for dead in the house.

At least he was with Jack. 

Castiel finds himself standing outside Jack's bedroom, staring. The sheets had been tossed to one side, mattress covering ruffled at where Jack had clearly grasped to try and stop being pulled away from his bed by some stranger. 

Cas squeezes his eyes shut, feeling sick. His fists flex, unsure whether he wants to punch the wall or scream.

Castiel sinks down to the floor, head buried in his hands. 

Lucifer wasn't ever going to stop, was he? They had never won anything, because if Lucifer couldn't get what he wanted through legal means, he was going to do it by _any means necessary._ Crowley had warned him as much. He knew as much himself. And if Lucifer couldn't do it by any means necessary, he sure was going to impart an example on those who _had_ won.

Just like Azazel had done to Mary, all those years ago. Just like what had happened to John Winchester. 

Just what had happened with Dean, and Sam, and _Jack_. 

Castiel stares into Jack’s bedroom. Tumbled to the side, perched upside down on the carpet and staring at him from its odd angle, was a plush, red, gecko. 

_Tony_ , was the Gecko's name. Dean had given it to him on his first day at school. When Cas had still been so afraid, and Dean told his son there was no need to.

He's spent so much of his time _running_.

Cas had once been a medic, while he served. His role was to defend, to heal. But even medics had to make use of their weapons at times, in order to protect those they cared for. 

Shakily, Cas pulls out his phone.


	18. He may be your Father, boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another small note - things get pretty heavy and graphic here - but no minors are hurt in the making of this chapter <3

Dean wakes.

Bright, superficial light beams from some torch placed on the ground, pointing at him. Dean winces, head blooming in a steady throb. 

He'd been dumped ceremoniously on a concrete floor, hands and feet bound with what were industrial cable ties, if the uncomfortable digging in his skin was anything to go by. The metallic tang of iron draws up his nose. _Blood?_

Voices. They creep into his consciousness, dragging him into the room, now finally self aware. 

"You _brought_ him here?"

"We didn't know what else to do, he'd gone for us, he was surprisingly good--"

There is silence, and even Dean can feel the pure _terror_ in the room even from what is probably a half concussed state. Then the thought slams into his mind, and terror overtakes _him._

_Jack? Where is Jack??_

He feels himself grunt as adrenaline rushes him. He involuntarily attempts to sit up. He has to make sure Jack is safe, that he--

He feels a hand grab at his hair and _yank_ . Dean gasps in pain and is forced to look _very_ close into the eyes of Lucifer. Lucifer had always come off as this try-hard, got-off-the-wrong-foot, wrong-place-at-wrong-time, Gee-Mr-Judge-I'm-Sorry-For-Getting-Emotional-About-My-Son kinda guy. Now? _Cold_. No fucking wonder the bravest man he knew was terrified of him. 

Dean growls up at him, as best he can in his state. Lucifer just watches. 

" _Where's Jack?"_ Dean growls, sluggish. Lucifer sniffs. He drops him, and Dean lands head first on the concrete floor. 

Lucifer pauses over him. "You have no right asking me about my _son_." Dean grunts as Lucifer kicks him, hard, in the stomach. With boots. Then he kicks him again. And again. And again. 

Dean braces himself for the pain jolting through him, tensing up as his stomach is aimed again, and again. Tears well in his eyes from the pain. His stomach convulses. 

He manages to turn his head in time to throw up—right over Lucifer's shoes. 

Lucifer comes to a stop. Dean has his eyes squeezed shut as he tries to gather his breath (unable to hide the grin) and then... 

"Well, it's clear what needs to go next."

Dean turns his head, trying to roll away from Lucifer, but he feels a boot brush over his ribs as he does. A hand grabs at his shirt, and-- 

" _The fuck was that?"_

It's one of Lucifer's loons making that exclamation, and it's panicked enough to stop his assault. He turns around slowly. 

They all wait. A bang, at one end of the building. Even Dean tries to peer over at _whatever the fuck was happening_. 

Ever so calmly, as though ushering in a young boy on his first day of school, walks Castiel. 

Lucifer straightens. 

"Ah. The ‘father’, come to find his prodigal 'son'." He even does the finger quotes. Castiel's expression is pure death. 

"Give me my son back, you son of a bitch." Castiel growls. 

He tackles Lucifer. 

Lucifer staggers back, and Dean can't roll away quick enough before he feels two bodies tumbling over him; he barely shuffles out of range of becoming _part_ of it. 

Castiel lands on top of Lucifer, punching him straight across the jaw. He strikes him several times before Lucifer rolls him over, pinning his arm hard against his neck. Cas chokes, grabbing at the arm for a few moments—he pries a leg free enough to kick Lucifer between the legs. 

It's enough for Lucifer to relent his grip, and Castiel grabs his fingers and twists back, _hard_. 

Lucifer pulls his arm back and Castiel lurches for another punch to his temple—Lucifer ducks his head and it largely lands through his hair, but Cas immediately jabs him in the face. Lucifer’s nose explodes with blood.

Lucifer runs a hand through the blood on his face, and looks at Castiel with _murder_ in his eyes. 

An arm snaps out and he grabs Cas by the neck. Castiel wheezes, and Lucifer slams, and slams, and slams and--

Cas chokes, blood in his throat, eyes glassing--

Lucifer slams, and--

" _HANDS UP!"_

Jody bursts into the room, gun unholstered, pointed. 

A moment later, and police _pour_ into the room, various yells of _get down_ , _we will shoot_.

Jody runs to Dean’s side, jerkily unbinding his hands. 

"You okay there, Dean?" She asks, hurriedly. Dean nods weakly, before he pushes himself to his feet. He turns, staggering.

Lucifer is being piled on by at least three officers, trying to handcuff him. Dean looks over as—

Cas lays there, unconscious.


	19. Wayward Sons

Azazel lives in some abandoned farm house in the middle of freaking nowhere, because of course he does. It's little wonder that there was so much difficulty in trying to find out where or who this guy was—this guy sure wasn't getting delivery without an extortionate tip required.

Dean drives up the mostly overgrown driveway, eventually coming across the farm house. It hadn't been painted in years, but it was clearly lived in—just a little faded. With a bitter taste, he realises it reminds him of Bobby’s.

He comes to a stop, letting the engine run for a few more minutes as it sits outside the house. There is a big truck parked outside, but curiously, no one comes to the front door despite some strange vehicle being sat on his property. Either no one is home, or Dean was expected. 

Either way, Dean doesn't like his prospects. He cuts off the ignition, and slowly gets out of the car—he might not be home, but that didn't mean there wouldn't be anyone _there_. 

He tucks the gun from the glove compartment into his waistband (actually _remember_ it this time, Dean), and locks the door. He heads up towards the house. 

The door is ajar as he approaches. He pushes the door open and peers in, quietly. The furniture is well-worn but good quality. The wallpaper hasn't been replaced in some time. Whole house needs a fresh lick of paint. Dean pulls out his phone. Blinking reception. Typical. 

"Through here," a voice calls from the other side of the house, and Dean tenses. He stills, waiting for _anything_ to jump out and try and kill him. His hand inadvertently hovers over the gun in his waistband. 

Eventually, his feet move. He heads through the house and straight out of the kitchen onto the back decking. Dean stands there for a moment until he spots the man sitting on the bench a few feet to the side of him. He's looking to the garden and expanse of land that probably only belongs to him in theory only.

He's an older man, which Dean expected. There are deep crow's feet etched around his eyes, and a profile that once would've been seen to be quite dashing. And then Azazel looks at him. 

His eyes are piercing. In some ways they remind Dean of Cas; soul scanning. In other ways, they reminded him of Lucifer’s; _cold._

A thought bubbles somewhere in the depths of Dean's mind, but it slips from grasp as soon as Azazel speaks, forcing their gaze to meet.

"Well, son, are you here for something, or do I need to ask you to get off my property?"

Dean had numerated for some time while driving up here; this man had killed his mom, his dad, and nearly killed Sammy. He taught Lucifer _everything_ he knew. 

But now that he was here... Dean was at a loss. 

Dean stares at him, hand still hovering over his waistband. Then, he sighs.

With some deliberation, he steps over, and sits next to Azazel on the bench. Azazel watches him with some slow curiosity. 

"Well, why aren't _you_ a strange young man," he notes. They both look out the veranda in silence for a few minutes. 

Dean stares down at his own hands. "I'm the only one of my family you haven't tried to kill." Dean remarks. He hated shitty pretenses, and he'd spent too much time lingering in courthouses. He has no clue how Sammy puts up with it. "Even though I'm the one who was lookin' into stuff. Why?"

Azazel doesn't respond for a while. He takes a quiet sip of a whiskey glass. "I think death would be too light a punishment."

Dean freezes. 

Azazel gently places down his glass. "What would be the point of removing an entire family with no one remaining to speak on the legacy of my threats? No one to tell the story of what exactly happens when you mess with Azazel, even retired." 

Dean feels hair prickle on the back of his neck. "But it didn't work. You didn't kill my brother."

"Yeah. That is true. Shortsighted, of me. If it wasn't for his _minx_ of a fiancee, Sam would be nothing but an ash stain on that bedroom floor by now."

Dean clenches his fists, nails digging in his palm. Azazel shifts slightly, and Dean nearly startles before realising that Azazel had pulled out a...guitar? 

He strums a few notes, resting it on his knees. "A song, to this meeting." He gives a nod, and starts playing. 

The thought that had bubbled in the back of Dean's mind regurgitates itself so forcefully that Dean barely realises the guitar is snatched from Azazel’s hand and gripped now in his own, splintered over the balcony railing. He stares down at the desecrated remains before dropping it, grabbing Azazel by the scruff of his shirt and slamming him against the side of the wall, holding him up to eye level. 

Even now, Azazel's expression is unnervingly neutral. 

"You _son of a bitch_ . Fucking legacy indeed, you only cared about seeing to it your _grandson_ was put in the right place to carry whatever fucking _legacy_ you'd built, _Chuck."_

Chuck Shurley gazes at him. He slowly raises an eyebrow. If he had his arms free, Dean imagined he'd want to slow clap like some B-movie villain. 

"What about _Cas_ , huh? You wanted to get rid of your own _fucking_ son too?"

"Cas?" Chuck finally questions. "Castiel?" He chuckles. "He wasn't worth the energy. Never knew ambition if it stared at him right in the face."

"You _bastard--"_ Dean slams Chuck against the wall again, not unlike how he'd had to watch Lucifer do to Cas. "You wanted to kill off Sam because he was dangerous, like you killed my mom, and my dad, 'cause he was a marine--"

He punches Chuck in the stomach, and he flinches. "You think I wasn't worth it, that I was just some insignificant pawn too, just like Cas--" Everything _in_ him wanted to put a bullet in this man's head, to make him feel a _semblance_ of the pain this man had caused him ever since he was just a small child. To _prove_ he could hurt him, damage him as much as he thought the rest of his family could--

Cas swims into mind, pinned underneath Lucifer, bloody. Unconscious. He visions his own hands, covered in blood. He drops Chuck. 

Chuck slumps unceremoniously onto the floor, but there is a delighted smirk on his face. "Mm, just as I thought. You refuse to hurt family."

Dean spits at him. "You ain't family, you motherfucker. I _choose_ mine."

He reaches to his chest. Chuck's expression flickers from one of anticipation to one of confusion as Dean reaches not for the gun, but his shirt pocket.

He pulls out his phone. 

On the screen, the phone is lit. An open call with the sheriff's department. 

Dean grins. Shit eating. " _And you all know security is mortal’s chiefest enemy._ Yeah, I read, you _bastard_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean is quoting Macbeth at the end there. Specifically, Act 3, Scene 5: "He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear  
> His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear.  
> And you all know, security  
> Is mortals' chiefest enemy."


	20. Upon a Sun-Baked Rock

The wedding was beautiful, of course. 

Dean stood beside Sam as they waited for Eileen to walk down the aisle. He can't hide the grin from his face as he glances to the side, watching the tears drip down Sam’s cheeks as Eileen emerges, robed in white. 

Dean totally didn't have tears of his own. 

It was something that should have been birthed in a film, really. The day had been perfectly beautiful, the sun shining, smiles everywhere. Even Bobby pulls out a handkerchief, dabbing at his eyes. Ellen squeezes his hand, gently, sitting aside of him. 

Dean whoops and cheers louder than anyone. He holds Sammy close, closer than he would have done a few weeks ago, if that was even possible. He lifts up Eileen and spins her around, her small stature with arms stronger than you'd possibly imagine out of such a small woman. Sam would be in good hands. As would she. 

The reception itself, while modest, was still lavish—the community hall was full to the brim of Sam's college mates, and their own found family—Ellen and Jo, Jody and her kids, all running around the large patch of grass set just outside the function room, French doors open wide to let in the late summer heat. 

Dean finds him outside. As best man he'd been running around most of the day looking after things so Sammy didn't have to, and this was one of the first moments of reprieve he'd found to go outside, tucking his blazer over his arm and sighing gently at the breeze bringing relief. 

Dean stands behind the bench, looking out at the various children rolling in the grass and causing an unending tirade of grass stains that would take the next decade to get out. It could be worse. 

Dean grins down at the male sitting on the bench in front of him. "Seemed pretty determined to catch that bouquet, Cas." 

Cas shrugs with one shoulder, because of course he knew he was already there. "Jack was very insistent that I catch it."

True to his word, Dean looks out; spotting Jack sprinting around the flowerbeds, bouquet in hand. Claire and Kaia are trailing after him, curious, as Jack holds the bouquet to the flowers in the flowerbed, probably pointing out the different colours. Whatever it is, Claire finds it hilarious. 

Dean slides on the bench next to Cas, and leans against him. He slides an arm along the back of the bench, and ignores the ache in his thighs. 

"So you're sayin' it's Jack who's gonna get married next."

"If that supposition is true, then we'll all be waiting a while." 

They fall into comfortable silence. Dean slides his hand down, intertwining his fingers with Castiel's. 

"You're the one who caught it, though."

Castiel then turns to look at him, eyes blue and deliberating. The stitches that smattered the top of forehead were nearly healed, but were barely noticeable from the angle he was looking at him. Cas has a question in his eyes, unspoken. He frowns slightly. 

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Winchester," is all Cas says. 

"I'll take my chances." Dean murmurs. He tilts his head, leaning in. They kiss for a moment, gentle. The breeze tickles his cheeks, the sunset settling a hue of orange on the grass around them. 

Dean sighs against Cas's lips, and holds him close. Cas reaches, fingers brushing against arms. He hums. "And I'll choose mine."

And he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done! Thank you SO much to all who read, and thank you again to kayrosebee for the beautiful art and scene breakers, to MalMuses for betaing, and to all those that gave suggestions or advice about the story these last few months! 
> 
> This is my first time creating something on this scope and nursing this baby unseen for so long, so I'm nervous and excited to put it out into the world finally! 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and you get extra bonus points for guessing the references for any of the chapters ;)


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